Each of us angels
by EloiseTwo
Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: **Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

Danny Taylor set at the table, polite semi-smile fixed on his face. He has tried the fish, he complemented the hostess, he even accepted an obligatory piece of the birthday cake with a crooked candle thrust into it.

It wasn't working. The situation was awkward, and nothing any of them could do would change that. He had his misgivings about drifting into this sort of a forced intimacy with his brother's family, but he reasoned that nothing could be gained if not at least attempted, and a child should not be penalized for the sins of the elders.

It was Nicky's 10th birthday. The actual party with a few of the boy's school friends took place in the afternoon, and this was a follow-up for the family. The family being Raphael, Sylvya, Sylvya's brother with his wife, and Danny.

Nicky looked at him expectantly all throughout dinner, trying to communicate something. What it was the kid wanted Danny couldn't tell, but he smiled, and he joined in singing "Happy Birthday," and he listened attentively to Sylvya's recital of all Nicky's recent accomplishments, and he made enthusiastic noises at all the opened presents, putting a special word in for his own: remote controlled 4X4 toy truck. An expensive gift that Danny felt compelled to buy, not really knowing what the kid would like, but reasoning that a mobile wheels was a viable option for a boy of any age.

And he even talked to Raphie about cars. Cars was Raphie's business now, and, incidently, the only safe subject between the brothers. They couldn't really talk about the past: too raw, too close, and too damaged by time and events. They couldn't very well discuss Raphie's family, because that inevitably led to the memories of the said unmentionable past. They couldn't talk about Danny's job, because anything to do with the law enforcement was too painful an issue for his brother. So they talked about the business of fixing and retooling cars as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The conversation took all of 10 minutes, at the end of which Danny felt that he really put in enough time with his brother's family, and could, without seeming rude, claim an early rise and leave. A difference between kinship and obligation - the time spend and the time one can safely leave.

Danny walked out on a street and took a deep breath. It was wet and icy: one of those miserable February evenings when it seems as if it will never be Spring. He welcomed the chill. It was something real, in any event. Something he could allow himself to feel.

Danny made his way out of a subway station couple of stops short of his home. He needed to breathe the cold air, he told himself: a decision he regretted quickly as he passed numerous brightly-lit bars on his way. They beckoned to him in that tangible, physical way that never failed to cut him off at the knees. He had no trouble summoning the tactile memory of a warm, perfect, golden trickle of alcoholic liquid rushing down his throat. The memory assaulted him and went, just as quickly. Danny was used to this, and, by this point in his life, had coping mechanisms in place to take down the memory and push it out of reach. . . . At least for the moment. . . . At least until the next assault. This dance was familiar to him, and he knew he could invent new steps should they become necessary.

Danny entered his apartment building in Washington Heights, just below the Cloisters at the northern Manhattan's Fort Tryon Park overlooking the Hudson River. He liked his neighborhood. The park was beautiful, the view of the river appealing in any weather, and the buildings stately and dignified, unmarred even by those ugly New York fire escapes that now adorned everything. A necessity, Danny understood, but eyesores nonetheless.

The building where Danny lived was a 1930s solid gray-stone, with the elegant echoes of the Art Deco period. It was built for prosperity and comfort, and has survived the meaner times of the mid-20th century, when this neighborhood went slowly to seed. Rent control held up until the mid-1990s, but the old owners died out, and the properties moved on to the new, more enterprising people, who didn't fail to capitalise on the neighborhood's beautiful natural surroundings, its proximity to Columbia University, and the elegance and comfort of its buildings. Danny got lucky when he found this apartment at the start of the new gentrification. He could remember five years back when the buildings were defaced, and the front entrances littered, and the stained-glass doors of the hall were stained with other things of dubious aesthetic value. He saw the potential, and he rented his place then and there. As it turned out, he made the right move. Five years later, and the buildings were being restored right and left, the streets were clean, and little, dainty, expensive boutiques have opened up alongside the colorful Dominican convenience stores. And the rent went though the roof for those who were looking for it now. Danny's rent, however, was fixed at the introductory, slow-growing rate of five years ago.

He took the elevator to the 7th floor. Outside his apartment he spied a small orange tabby cat. The cat looked up at him expectantly. Danny groaned inwardly and opened the door, letting the cat in with the resigned air of a martyr.

The tabby, named, inexplicably, Oscar, did not, in fact, belong to Danny. He was by rights Mrs. Fuller's cat. An 84-year-old lady and a professor's widow, Mrs. Fuller has up to recently been active and lucid, more than able to take care of her ailing husband and a cat. However, since last Spring, when Mr. Fuller passed away, his wife started to feel the burden of age. Her will to live, as well as her strength was slipping, and she started to forget things.

On more than one occasion upon coming home Danny would find brown shopping bags that were left forgotten on her welcome mat. Danny would rap on her doors and bring her shopping in. He has taken to checking up on her several times a week, making sure she didn't forget to turn off gas, or water, or eat dinner. She'd let him do it, which was, to Danny, another sign of her rapid deterioration.

When he first met her, Mrs. Fuller was 79 and fiercely independent, with deceptively frail body and an active, probing mind. That woman would not have taken kindly to being handled. But that was before her husband and her reason for living passed away. This new Mrs. Fuller gave up, and Danny knew it. Still, he checked on her twice a week, and sat in her kitchen pretending to eat inedible cookies, and listened to the stories from her past. He wasn't even sure if she was telling the stories to him or simply recounting them to herself, but he listened, not at all put out for having to do so. She rambled a bit, but, on the whole, they were interesting stories, vivid and full of details of people gone and of life as foreign to Danny as is she was talking of South Africa or Iceland.

And he all but inherited Oscar. It started with Mrs. Fuller forgetting to feed the poor beast, who soon realized where the food might be procured. Today was no different. Danny ushered Oscar into the small kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a can of cat food. He has been buying it regularly for months now, but, for the longest time, refused to get some kind of a proper container for it. It was as if in his mind, once he did that, the cat would become irrevocably his. He ended up getting a white bowl with brown cat-paws design on it from Mrs. Fuller's.

It should be said that Danny really disliked cats. He remembered a one-time girlfriend, who owned a large, fat, gray furball. She insisted on dressing the thing in sweaters and shoving it into every guest's face, so they would pet it. "Isn't my baby precious? Isn't he just darling? Wouldn't you like to kiss it?"

No, Danny didn't like cats. To him they were symptomatic of neurosis and misplaced affection. But he felt for Oscar. After all, the poor thing was just trying to survive, suddenly finding itself bereft of its accustomed care and forced to scrounge for food, weary of strangers, discovering that the world can be cold, unsympathetic, and unforgiving. Not unlike Danny himself in those chilly childhood days.

Which is why Danny now stood in his kitchen, looking down at Oscar scarfing food from an ugly pet bowl. "Great. I should change my name to Felix, because, goodness knows, we are an odd couple."

OK, just a beginning, and I promise, there will be plot. :) At least I will try hard to introduce one.

Eloise


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: **Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

anmodo, thank you very much for a kind and thoughtful review. The very reason I write about Danny is because we have been told nothing of his thoughts, his surroundings, his daily struggles, and his relationships. So, I decided to invent them. :)

Danny woke up in a foul mood. It seemed to be a common way to wake up for him lately. It was nothing specific, nothing he could put into words, but the dissatisfaction would creep in, and the mood would announce itself in the morning with a stronger than usual need for a drink. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but Danny was afraid. He was afraid of the mood, afraid of the need, and afraid of the ever more taxing efforts it would take to combat this. Two evenings a week spent at AA meetings, and he was beginning to wonder if it has become so comfortable as to no longer be effective.

A hot shower and a lethal cup of coffee later, and the mood dissipated somewhat. Danny even found it in himself to tickle behind Oscar's ear in passing. It was hard to tell, but Danny thought he saw Oscar roll his eyes. For the first time in a while Danny laughed.

He was still chuckling when he walked out of the apartment, letting Oscar slip past him. He locked his doors and turned around, and that's when he saw the girl.

The first thing he noticed about her was her hair. It was one of those undefinable colors that appear almost brown, but turn into all shades of gold once the light hits it. She sat on the floor by the door opposite to Danny's, surrounded by a half dozen boxes, some of which have ripped open.

She lifted her head and looked Danny up and down in a deliberate way that would have been rude, if she didn't look quite so helpless on that floor among her scattered possessions.

"Nice cat," was the first thing she said.

As a return compliment, Oscar gave an aggravated and noncommittal hiss.

"And friendly, too," was the girl's next observation.

"He is just protective of his floor. It is by rights his. Well, his and little Stevie Kaufman's form number 78 other there. He claimed it long ago to race his tricycle up and down the hall. Stevie and Oscar here share custody. And you seem to have occupied a great deal of their territory. If you think Oscar's unfriendly, wait until you hear Stivie wail."

Danny realized he was bubbling, and he couldn't even understand why. It was, perhaps, the way she kept staring at him: very intently, with an unreadable expression on her face.

A short pause ensued, then Danny decided to end it.

"Do you need some help with those?" He pointed at the boxes.

She continued to look at him contemplatively.

"I could use some help, yes, but I fear for your spiffy coat. It could get wrinckled."

She realized it was a wrong thing to say immediately, even though she only meant it as a lighthearted joke.

Danny's defences went up at the mention of his clothes. Ever since his castoff childhood days, Danny made it a special point to always have nice clothes. Not the height-of-fashion, metrosexual, I-know-my-labels kind of nice clothes, but the good quality, excellent fit kind that was denied him during his early years. A very young Danny had wowed that, once independent, he would never wear secondhand, ill-fitting, faded things that made him a source of cruel jokes during his school years. And he stuck to that basic tenet throughout his adult life. But the memory still smarted a little, and his first reaction was that of anger.

However, Danny decided to shrug this off. The girl couldn't have possibly known, and, in any case, she was stating that the coat looked expensive and good.

"My job imposes a dress code, my coat is wrinkle-resistent, and this floor is marble and cold as hell. As I am sure you've already discovered. We need to get you off of it before you die of pneumonia or before Stevie walks out and starts screaming. Whichever comes first."

She smiled a full smile for the first time, and the smile was lovely. Two unexpected dimples made an appearance and transformed her face.

"Thanks. My boxes fell apart. I am useless at packing, and even more so at unpacking. I was contemplating just living here in the hallway, but, as you pointed out, the floors are cold, and now you have me apprehensive of the wrath of Stevie."

When Danny approached to pick up two boxes at a time, he snuck a better look at the girl. She was small - about 5 foot 3 - and rather slim. She was also older than Danny first thought. From a distance he took her to be no older than 21, but upon closer examination he realized that she was in her late 20s, may be even 30. She had one of those heart-shaped faces that can sometimes look ageless. Her gray eyes looked clear and intelligent, but it could have been the effect of a pair of thin-rimmed glasses that were framing them.

Her face was scrubbed clean of any makeup, and, Danny guessed, she didn't use much in any case. She didn't need it. Her bone structure and her delicate skin were distinctive enough to not require enhancements. Danny also thought that her hair, once freed from the messy ponytail and tamed appropriately, would look downright beautiful.

He had to stop himself there, afraid that she would guess the directions his thoughts were heading. It wasn't that he was ogling her, or thinking anything in particular, for that matter. But he did look her over, and he rather liked what he saw.

They entered the apartment. All three of them, Oscar included. The nosy tabby made himself at home in a particularly interesting corner and was contemplating marking it.

"They say it's good luck to bring a cat into a new home," the girl remarked looking at Oscar with a doubtful expression. "I don't know, though, how lucky it would be if he peed in there."

"Oscar is much too well-behaved to pee anywhere except in his two designated litter boxes. But, if you encourage him, he'll demand at some point that you install one in here."

"Will he? Well, at least he gives you heads up. That's something." She fidgeted with one of the boxes, and Danny realized with surprise that she was nervous. "Oscar? Interesting name. Why Oscar and what did he do to deserve two litter boxes?"

Danny smiled.

"You'll have to ask Mrs. Fuller about the name. She lives in 76. Oscar is hers, but he prefers my place these days. Still, we both keep him in litter boxes, just in case. We never know who he will decide to grace with his presence on any given day, and it's best to be safe."

She didn't press for more details, instead she said:

"I've officially met Oscar, but I don't believe I caught your name."

"Danny. Danny Taylor, 74."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Danny Taylor, 74. I'm Audrey."

"I know." Danny couldn't hide the sly smile. "It's on your boxes. Audrey H. Mills. What does "H" stand for?"

Audrey laughed.

"Hepburn."

"For real?"

"Yep. My mother is a rabid fan. She had suffered from a terrible, prolonged, incurable disease called "I want my daughter to be just like my idol." A disease full of delusions and complications due to which I suffered several years of very painful, and, I am sad to say, very futile ballet training, drama classes, and even a course in how to be a perfect lady. My mother finally gave up when I was kicked out of "the perfect lady" course due to my incessant and unapologetic mocking of the teacher.

They both laughed and, suddenly, it didn't feel so awkward.

"So, Danny Taylor, 74, call me Audrey, but never, ever allude to that "H," if you want to stay in my good graces. And if you be so kind as not to think my mother too singularly weird, I'd appreciate that too."

Danny chuckled.

"I don't know if I think your mother all that singular. I know a Sam Spade. A woman. Her mother is a Bogart fan."

Audrey looked interested.

"And did your friend Sam Spade become an actress?"

"No, she is in law enforcement."

And they both burst out laughing again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: **Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**A heartfelt thank you to everyone who posted a review: you give me all the inspiration I need to write. I appreciate every word.**

**anmodo:** as usual, you are absolutely right! I was thinking of "Breakfast at Tiffany's"! I am a fan of old Hollywood movies with their emphasis on witty banter and the chemistry between people! Danny, partly because of his sense of humor, and partly because he does cover his emotions with jokes, always seems to me a bit of a throw back to these days. Which I consider to be a good thing:)

Danny took his customary brief morning walk toward a short side street where he parked his car. He could have parked closer, but he liked the rout. It took him every morning by a little Dominican restaurant that was by now his familiar breakfast stop. Not strictly a restaurant, more like half-deli half coffee-shop, Casa Santo Domingo had a grand name and a tiny space, crammed with mismatched tables that were really too small for grown people, and possessing of Caribbean charm that Danny found appealing. It served unapologeticly hot, old-fashioned sandwiches that would give nightmares to the carb-counting culture of today, and, to Danny's taste, the best cup of coffee this side of the Atlantic.

As Danny entered the place, the proprietess, a small, curvy, middle-aged Dominican woman known to everyone as simply Mama Arevalo, smiled at him affectionately. She has been supplying Danny with coffee and an occasional scrambled egg for several years now, and has grown to regard him as something of a son. That is, she has taken to berating him for not putting milk or coco in his coffee, for not wearing a coat warm enough for this time of the year, and for not finding a nice girl to love him and to remind him to do all these things.

Danny traded lighthearted barbs with her, taking her concern as due course and even liking it. He knew he brought it out in middle-aged women sometimes. Something of a lost puppy syndrome that he still occasionally projected to the world. A feature that he first strove hard to overcome and had finally grown to accept.

"Ah, Danny, no hat again, I see! You catch your death!"

"I won't, Caro, just so I can prove you wrong!" Danny laughed taking a large paper cup from her hands, letting that wonderful coffee aroma envelop him for the moment. He counted this as his first real coffee of the day. The one he made himself every morning qualified as an eye-opener, but as a real beverage it couldn't hold a candle to Mama Arevalo's.

Danny suspected that, like most addicts, he has gone and substituted one addiction for another. He reasoned, however, that this one was far less lethal, and, what the hell, a man needed a hobby. It could have been worse: he could have taken up smoking.

"Danny, Danny, no food again? You skinny, you need food! No good starting day with no food! Let Caro make you nice tamale."

Danny laughed involuntarily as he thought of Martin. "Thank you, but you know I don't eat that stuff. Especially not so early in the morning. I have a friend, though, who'd be delighted to try your tamales, Caro! I've got to bring him here some day."

"You bring friends, Danny. Bring a nice girl, too," Mama Arevalo climbed her favorite conversational horse. "Why not you find a nice girl, Danny? A boy like you! You should be fighting 'em off! I have a niece, you know. Nice girl, educated, too! She been to college! And good cook!"

Danny gave the lady his patented smile. "I really appreciate it, Mamacita, but you know I am waiting for you! When are you going to leave old man Arevalo and marry me?"

Caro laughed and waived Danny off: "Ah, laugh at old woman! I tell you, Danny, if I was 20 years younger. . . ."

"I though you were!" Danny winked at her and turned to leave.

"Here, take this, don't argue!" And she thrust a brown paper bag into Danny's hand as he was about to exit.

Danny closed the door carefully and inhaled the cool morning air. More out of curiosity than anything he opened the bag and laughed. Inside, was a carefully wrapped slice of the Creole Meringue cake.

As he turned the corner and approached his car, thinking of how a day can change on a dime, remembering how depressed he was just an hour and a half ago, and how elated he now felt. Part of it was coffee, and part - habitual morning banter with Mama Arevalo, combined with a wonderful cup of coffee and a site of a ridiculous cake in his hand. But mostly, it was excitement. A familiar excitement Danny recognized from far too long ago. A feeling of something, if not wonderful, then at least memorable, about to come. And he couldn't deny that the feeling was tied to his morning meeting with Audrey.

An odd girl, Audrey. Not at all what he would consider his "type." But he couldn't stop smiling remembering their, admittedly insignificant, but all the same meaningful conversation. He was aware of the connection: of that subtle recognition of a kindred spirit. It's been ages since Danny made that king of a connection with a woman. Never easy to get close to, he was especially weary of entering into anything emotional that spelled some kind of a permanence. Battle-scarred by his childhood and by few too many broken attempts at closeness in his early adulthood, he has grown to accept that people would inevitably disappoint, that not everyone was meant to share a life with someone, and that, ultimately, his way of forming fleeting attachments and moving on quickly was best.

After all, look what getting deeply involved did to everyone he knew? Look at Mrs. Fuller: years and years of sharing a life, and what is left in the end is desolation, loneliness, and a semi-abandoned cat. Look at Jack: all that love, all that hope tied into creating and raising children together, and it comes down to sordid details and shouting matches in a lawyer's office. Look at Sam: finally, a healthy relationship after years of complicated dead ends, and she can't allow herself to be happy, because, Danny suspects, she simply doesn't know how. And look at Martin, the incurable romantic of his acquaintance: he's got the girl, but he is restless because she is so, and Danny worries that the restlessness is only going to grow and eventually destroy them.

Of course, there are exceptions. Danny didn't generalize, even in his more cynical moods. There was Vivian, with her outwardly stable family, though Danny knew from some of the things she said, and from quite a few she didn't say, that not all was sunny and well. Reggie, her son, has entered teenage years, and that was never a picnic. And there was something else, something Viv was trying hard not to disclose. Danny didn't pry, hoping she'd tell him in due time, but he guessed it was something personal and not work-related.

Even Mama Arevalo's example couldn't inspire Danny. Yes, she had a large, noisy, affectionate family around her, and a lot of love to spare for strays such as himself, but people like that were rare, and in the end, their loving and generous natures did not spare them the heartache and disappointment. One of Caro's sons was killed two years back in some trivial street dispute, and it nearly destroyed the family.

No, Danny wasn't looking for attachments. Not at all. He had enough of loss, enough of pain, enough of disappointment to last him nine Oscar's lives, and he worked hard these days to avoid anything that could get him in harm's way. He had his friends, and caring for them was sometimes heartbreaking enough. He really wasn't looking to take on more.

And yet, the excitement of this morning would persist. Danny's treacherous memory would produce an image of those dimples, and that golden hair, and those four stubborn freckles on the bridge of her nose.

And how easy it was to talk nonsense to her that wasn't really nonsense.

"_So, Danny, if it isn't too early in our acquaintance to ask, what do you do for a living? No, no, let me guess: nice coat, severe suit, striped tie. A job with a dress code and a 7 a.m. apartment exit. Hmm, clearly, a dog-walker or a night manager at the local Duane Reade Drugs is out. And it's a bit early for a Matre d'. . ."_

"_I sell insurance door to door. I need to look impressive." Danny was enjoying this game._

"_Nah, you are not the type. You are nowhere near anal enough."_

"_And you arrived at that conclusion based on all of 20 minutes of knowing me?"_

"_Sure. I am an excellent judge of character! I let you in, didn't I? I even let Oscar in, though that's based mostly on faith rather than on his hitherto displayed behavior."_

"_And my displayed behavior?"_

"_So, far, promising. But you are stalling! I know! You drive a limo for a celebrity!"_

"_Yep, you got it. I drive a limo for a super secretive, very important celebrity. In fact, I need to go back to my place and fetch my hat. The celebrity hates it when I don't wear a hat."_

" _See, I'm good!" She looked at him carefully, with that semi-smile that was already favorite with Danny. "Seriously, though, you don't work on Wall Street, do you? I am not sure why, but I'd be disappointed if you did."_

"_No. No Wall Street, no insurance, a little bit of driving, but very seldom celebrities. I am a Federal Agent. I work for the local FBI Missing Persons Unit."_

_She gave it thought. For some reason, Danny expected a more pronounced reaction. A surprise, perhaps even apprehension. He was used to people getting apprehensive when they first learned of his job. It was the inherent defensiveness inevitably brought out with the mention of either law enforcement or the government. However, Audrey didn't seem defensive, or cautious, or weary in any way. She contemplated the information and then pronounced:_

"_I should have guessed. You did drop a clue with that mention of a friend in law enforcement." And then, with a smile that told him she was kidding: "At least she was raised by a Bogart fan. What's your excuse?"_

"_I just like the ties."_

Danny laughed again, remembering bits of their conversation, and got into his car.


	4. Chapter 4

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - Titus Lucretius Carus

**Once again, I like to thank every one for wonderful reviews. They spur me on and make my days! Thank you, guys!**

Danny arrived at the office with a little time to spare. He liked it that way. On those days when he wasn't awakened at an ungodly hour to go to a crime scene or a location of disappearance, he would come to work early, sip his slowly cooling coffee, read the sports page and gloat at the latest Yankees misfortune, try to finish some paperwork that inevitably accumulated, and generally get into the swing of things at his own pace.

Today, he discovered, he wasn't the first one in. Vivian was seated at her desk, paperwork in front of her, but her eyes fixed on something far away. She was so lost in her thoughts that Danny took care to make some kind of a racket before approaching her, so as not to startle her unnecessarily.

"Early in today, Viv. Reggie didn't need to be dropped off at school?"

"No, Marcus took care of that. I just needed to catch up on this mess." She indicated with her hand a small stack of papers in front of her.

"OK." Danny let it go, reasoning that Viv was a person who would tell you things in her own time, and there wasn't any use pressing them before that time arrived. He knew his colleague and his friend well enough to leave her be. But he felt uneasy. Something wasn't right. Not talkative under normal circumstances, Vivian lately grew too silent and withdrawn even for her. Danny longed to do something, to say something, to help somehow, but he understood her need for privacy, hoping that, if there was something he could do, she knew well that she could come to him.

"Any progress on Markham over night?"

Kevin Markham was their latest missing person, and the case was rapidly growing cold. A grandfather of four has walked out of his apartment in Forrest Hills at 4 in the afternoon three days ago to never be seen or heard of since. He left a tea cattle on the stove and a 12-year-old grandson whom he was watching after school in the apartment. He was observed by a busybody of a neighbor when he left the building, but, unfortunately, the woman, who gladly told them in minute detail all the little, private aspects of the old man's daily routine, couldn't tell them where he went on this occasion or wether he was planning on coming back.

A million dead ends and false leads later, and Danny wasn't looking forward to a day spent poring over phone records and credit card receipts. Samantha was right: this was the part of the job they never advertized in any recruiting materials. That mind-numbing, headache-inducing, soul-crushing tediousness of a paper trail. All of them on the team, without exception, would have preferred the danger of a suspect chace, or even the chilly boredom of a long stakeout. But as painfully tedious as this part of the job was, Danny couldn't deny that records, and not eyewitnesses, often led to the persons they were searching for.

Vivian handed him a thick folder.

"Medical records. Just delivered. He's been seeing a lot of doctors lately. Not surprising for a man his age, but you never know. It could be something."

Danny sighed and pulled out his chair. Might as well settle in comfortably. Coffee on the left, pen on the right, lamp on, illuminating the mishmash of items pinned to his board: his tentative monthly schedule; a calendar; bullet points for current cases; a list of internal phone extensions; a faded picture of him and his parents taken 5 months before their death; the Hop Lee Chinese menu for those times he couldn't get away for lunch; another photo, of Nicky, presented to him by Sylvia and put up out of an uncertain sense of duty; a list of codes for various government websites; and, peaking from underneath it, a semi-hidden picture of Natalie Portman topless - a picture he sort held on to after a case of a missing paparazzo - partly because he really liked it, and partly to drive Sam crazy.

He worked diligently for a while, but after some time his mind started to wonder and found its way to the morning's meeting again.

_"So, now you know so much about me, and I am still in the dark about you. All I have is your name, and I am not even allowed to use the letter H!"_

_"That's not true! You know about my mother, and about my inability to pack, and the fact that I will never be a perfect lady. All that in less than 20 minutes. You must be good at your job! I don't think I've imparted this much information on a stranger before, ever."_

_"Nah, it's not the job, it's because I am irresistible."_

_"No, I am pretty sure that's not it at all. It's because you can carry more than one box. I feel obligated to compensate."_

Danny didn't realize he was smiling until Vivian broke into his reverie:

"Something funny in those?" She pointed out at the open folder of Mr. Markham's medical records.

"Ah, not really. In fact, not at all. The guy had a hip replacement surgery, an exasperated ulcer, and a persistent bronchitis all in one year."

"And the goofy grin on your face . . . ?"

"Was completely unrelated."

"Something you want to tell me, Danny?" Vivian smiled at him with a knowing smile.

"Nope. Nothing to tell. Something you want to tell me?"

"Why? I am not smiling."

"No, and I am worried as to why."

She regarded him with a thoughtful look. "I want to tell you, Danny, but not now. Not yet."

"It's all right, Viv, but I hope you know that you can always tell me anything, and that I will do anything I can to help."

She smiled and ruffled his short hair.

"I know. Thank you."

She walked back to her desk, changing the subject as she did so.

"Mr. Markham may not have been the healthiest senior citizen in town, but he didn't suffer from dementia, or any diminished capacity, as I understand."

"No, nothing like that in those records."

"So, the notion that he just walked out and forgot who he was and where he was going is out."

Danny shrugged. "That's always a possibility with the elderly, but it doesn't seem to be the case here. According to both his children and his neighbors he is very together, lucid, and organized. There's nothing to indicate memory loss, sudden traumas, or just your run of the mill forgetfulness. No, looks like his medical records are another dead end."

He looked out of the window. It started to snow. Not heavily, but quietly and lightly, just enough to cover February ugliness with a pristine layer of innocence.

"Where is everyone? Did I miss a memo?"

Vivian chuckled. "Jack's following a lead in Jersey. Sam and Martin are stuck in traffic. Sam called. She met Martin uptown to go and talk to one of Mr. Markham's friends. Why she needed Martin for that, I don't know, but they are not going to make it here any time soon in this weather."

Danny had a pretty good idea why Sam and Martin were now stuck in traffic together, but he didn't say anything. Keeping other people's secrets was by now a full-time job for him, the one he took almost as seriously as his paying one. He accepted it as a matter of course that people didn't want their private lives exposed, whatever their reasons may be. After all, he wasn't a big fan of oversharing himself.

"OK, Viv, I think I'll brave the weather and go see if I can catch Mr. Markham's GP. Records indicate he saw his doctor three times this past month. No specifics, just some tests. That's got to be unusual."

"OK, but be careful out there."

Danny negotiated busy Manhattan streets, ignoring edgy cab drivers and huddled pedestrians. It was a long-standing habit of driving in this crazy city that taught him to keep his cool under any condition, and even think of something else while not letting his attention drift.

_"I am a graduate student," Audrey said. "Columbia. English and Comparative Literature. And before you get scared, no, I will not bore you with the perpetual "Have you read this?" questions. I like to read and I like to learn, but I am not big on extracting or sharing analysis. A flaw in a grad student, actually, but there it is."_

_"A flaw, indeed, especially if you are planning to teach some day."_

_"Nope, not unless I'm sentenced by a judge."_

_Danny laughed at her unexpected admission. "You don't like kids?"_

_"I don't like teaching. I don't like going over the same material again and again. I don't like forcing information onto people who are too disinterested or too lazy to find it for themselves. I like ideas, not postulates."_

_"Sounds like you've given it some thought."_

_"I've given it five years of my life. I taught 8th-grade English in Philadelphia right after College. That's a life sentence as far as I'm concerned, and I have paid my debt to society, and there's got to be something better."_

_"Such as?"_

_"Writing. Editing. Book publishing. Research. Hell, archiving sounds better to me right now. I do it between classes and on weekends. My assistantship at Columbia. They pay me little money and pile me up with work, but that's nothing new for a former public school teacher. And it's still more fun than explaining to a roomful of glassy-eyed teenagers why Mark Twain is funny."_

Danny found Mr. Markham's doctor easily enough, but the conversation didn't produce any leads. Kevin Markham was having a bad month full of aches and pains, but the test results didn't reveal anything extra to add to his already impressive list of ailments. No, he was not depressed. Yes, he was recovering well from his surgery. As well, as can be expected at his age. No, he didn't ask for any referrals. No, he didn't want a second opinion. The doctor felt harassed, even though Danny was gentle if persistent. He was a busy general practitioner with an overextended office and a waiting room full of irate elderly patients. Danny knew he'd get not joy here.

Still, this needed to be crossed off the list of leads, and he's learned a long ago that any task, no matter how annoying or insignificant, can make or brake a case at any time.

The day progressed in much the same manner, after Danny returned to the office. Jack ran in, and ran out again, taking Martin with him. Sam buried herself in Mr. Markham's financial records, dating back to mid-1970s. Vivian left early, siting a school meeting with Reggie's teacher.

Danny felt headachy and cross-eyed after reading a Herculean share of phone records. Nothing stood out. Speak of disappearing without a trace. A much easier task to accomplish in New York than people realized. May be, after all, explaining why Mark Twain was funny somewhere in manageable Philly was not such a bad idea, and this running around a giant, indifferent, snow-blinded metropolis was a sign of madness.

He reached his 7th floor somewhere around 9 p.m. Not a record late for him, by any standards. He passed number 72, and stopped. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Sings of life? Sounds indicating that she was home safe? A glimpse of light under her door?

He noted a new welcome mat. It was gray and it had text printed on it. _"Go ahead! Walk all over me! Everybody else does!"_ Danny laughed out loud. It was so like her, and the site of that mat gave him the courage. He knocked on the door.

"Ah, our friendly neighborhood spook!" The dimples were there like old friends, greeting him after a long and tiring day.

"Actually, a spook is CIA. I am a fed. But I forgive you, because I know they don't teach that in 8th grade. I brought you a housewarming present." Danny produced a box with a lamp of a green-glass shade he found earlier today on his trip downtown. "Every student needs one of these."

"Oh, Thank you! I love a present. Do you always say and do the right thing?"

"Absolutely. Haven't made a wrong move in my life!"

She showed him in. The apartment was still in first-day disarray, but Danny noted that the movers must have come during the day, and some furniture was now situated around the place.

"Coffee? I'd feed you something, but I am mostly a takeout girl, and I haven't, well, taken anything out today. But I do have coffee. I live on that stuff."

Danny felt a sudden lump in his throat. "Tell you what: my kitchen is more set up, not that I cook all that much, mind you. And I am very good at speed-dialing all the best local delivery places. I'll buy dinner, and you can make coffee at my place."

It was a testament to how strangely comfortable with each other they have become after only one morning's conversation, that she didn't even stop to think about it.

"Deal. I make a mean cup of coffee. You'll see!"

Half an hour later, the food was ordered and sprawled around Danny's kitchen table. Audrey disappeared into her place and reemerged with a stack of paper plates, plastic forks, and a pack of heavenly smelling grownd coffee.

She managed to arrange those paper containers with Chinese food in a homey and appealing way, and suddenly the meal that Danny must have had a thousand times, seemed fresh and exotic.

"Wow." Danny made a mock bow. "You are good at this. Marry me."

"No way. You are too old for me. You are what, a whole 2, 3 years older? That means you'll probably die 2, 3 years earlier than me. Or may be even way earlier than that, considering men have a lower life expectancy. It simply isn't done anymore. The thing these days is to find a much younger man. Say, I saw that Stevie Kaufman today. He is very cute and he does ride a mean tricycle! Is he single?"

"I don't know. I respect his privacy. But, as a federal agent, I feel I should warn you that dashing Stevie won't be legal for another 13 years, and what do you propose to do in the meantime?"

"Why, use you for sex, of course."

They laughed, but the laughter was somewhat strained, because she blushed, and because Danny felt that same lump in his throat.


	5. Chapter 5

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**Once again, this is dedicated to everyone who encouraged me to continue with this story. You know who you are:)) And I am, as always, very touched by all the warm praise!**

Danny woke up with a start. His cell phone was going off. He grabbed it blindly and uttered familiar "Taylor" in a sleep-hushed voice.

"Sorry to do this to you, but local PD has just found our guy's wallet and cane in an alley behind some supermarket. We are gathering here. 532 9th Avenue."

Jack's voice sounded weary, not surprisingly, considering that the discovery of Mr. Markham's personal effects in some dingy alley four and a half days after his disappearance did not bode well for his future recovery.

It was also, Danny noted, 4:26 in the morning, a time at which sounding cheerful for any reason was completely impossible for anyone.

And yet, as Danny stood under the scalding whips of his shower, a slight, traitorously happy smile played on his lips. He didn't dream it, he wasn't imagining it. She didn't want to leave last night, and he didn't want to let her go.

He immediately felt guilty on Mr. Markham's behalf, and he also marvelled at the difference of only one day. Yesterday morning, when the case wasn't this dire yet, and the waking up not as abrupt, he was miserable. Today, he was anything but.

Audrey didn't stay last night, of course. Neither one of them was ready for this step yet. But it didn't change the fact that they both wanted to take it.

"_So, your coffee-maker blows. You know that, right?"_

"_I know. It's kind of a point of pride with me, actually. Extremely badly brewed but high octane beverage first thing in the morning. It knocks all the sleep out of my brain, burns my insides into wakefulness, and serves as a reminder that life is bitter and I shouldn't get too comfortable. It's a triple thread!"_

_Audrey laughed. "I guess I shouldn't have spoiled you with my good coffee, then."_

"_No fear, your good coffee is no match for my evil coffee-maker. It takes a good blend and boils it into submission!"_

Danny chuckled as he made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a cup. Yep, it was as vile as ever, and on this morning it made Danny happy.

He passed number 72 and slid a note under the door. The note was carefully thought out and designed to read as casual. "Had to leave early. Rain-check for breakfast, but how about a real dinner tonight. I remember you don't observe school nights. _D._"

Danny's thoughts were still revisiting last night.

"_I am not keeping you up too late, am I? I imagine graduate students have a lot of homework."_

"_I don't do homework, I'm gifted!"_

He didn't even realize that, as he was exiting the building into the cold, unfriendly February dawn, he was whistling.

Danny slid under the yellow police crime scene tape and joined Jack and Martin already in mid-discussion.

"What do we got?"

"Kevin Markham's wallet. Driver's license, library card, photos of his grandkids, senior citizen transit pass. No money, no credit cards. CSU took it, dusting for prints, but I am not holding my breath. It's been here for days, looks like, shoved behind the dumpster, and what with the snow, and the rain, and the dirt. . . ."

Danny nodded. They've been through this before: finding evidence only to discover that is was useless in their search.

"His cane is here also. As if wallet wasn't bad enough, this kind of clinches it: he couldn't have just walked off without it. His hip replacement surgery was only a month and a half ago. I hate to say it, but I think we are looking for a body."

"Any blood? Signs of a struggle?"

"In this alley, with all the garbage and that weather, who can tell? Nothing overwhelming, but there might have been something that's washed out with the rain two days ago."

Jack shivered involuntarily and pulled on the ends of his scarf. "OK, guys, here's what I need you to do. Divide the perimeter and sweep this alley up and down. I know the PD's been through it already, but they are looking for the sings of a crime. I want you to look for suitable entry and exit points, and also, for anything that suggests that this - whatever might have taken place here - was witnessed by someone. You know, any windows that overlook the alley, truck delivery stops, a convenient nook for kids who play hide-and-seek. . . . You know the drill."

Danny and Martin walked in opposite directions. They did, indeed, know the drill. Every inch of the dreary alley would be mapped and inspected. A 78-year-old grandfather did not just appear or vanished untraced. If he was here at all, he entered and exited somewhere, and, with any luck, was observed. Especially if he wasn't alone, which, under the circumstances, was a reasonable assumption. Of course, there was always a possibility that he never was here, and that the walled and the cane were symply dumped in the alley by a passing assailant. But that was a question for later.

They canvassed the street and waited for a decent hour to go knocking on some doors. A tall building with a row of dim windows overlooking the alley, and Danny was once again pitying his feet. They walked the unending stairs, talked to those who were at home, took info on those who weren't, and still, there was nothing.

"This is the one for the books! How discouraging can it get?" Danny shivered and scanned a windy street for some coffee shops. "I mean, the guy left in the afternoon, he walked a busy street, he, supposedly, entered a crowded supermarket, and no one remembers seeing him? Or anything!"

Martin, eating a hot dog he bought from a street vendor, shrugged. "I am not surprised. You know most people are unobservant. They don't pay attention to anything that doesn't immediately concern them."

"But that's not exactly true, is it?" Danny walked purposefully towards a welcoming warmth of a nearest Dunkin' Donuts. Martin fell into step beside him. "I mean, people claim to have seen Elvis in convenience stores all the time! UFOs are reported on a regular basis. Jimmy Hoffa's graves have been spotted in at least 15 states in the past month! People will always tell you when your tie is crooked, and they never fail to notice that ketchup stain you've got on your shirt. But a 6 foot 2, distinguished-looking, gray-haired man with a noticeable limp and a red New Jersey Devils jacket vanishes in the middle of an afternoon rush hour, and nobody's seen a thing!"

Martin smiled: "OK, Danny, I seriously doubt you need any more coffee today."

The rest of the morning is spent in talking to delivery clerks, truck drivers, and basically anybody in and around the store. A tentative check out girl tells them she might have seen Mr. Markham buying bananas and a cereal four days ago, but it might have been someone else in a red jacket. Or a green jacket. Or it might have been a woman.

Exasperation settles in as they leave the scene for the office, to pore over yet more records and hope for something from the crime unit people.

Danny turned his cell phone's ring tone back on and noticed that he had a text message. "Hey, G-man. Dinner sounds good. Do I dress up? A."

A huge smile made an appearance on Danny's face all through the rest of the day. More than once he encountered his colleagues' questioning stares. The case was hitting a brick wall, the paper work was un-inspiring, and the weather was miserable. The smile was out of place, but Danny couldn't help it.

He couldn't even tell how he got through the rest of the day or how he made it home. He ran by Audrey's door, only stopping for a second and satisfying himself that she was definitely in. He took a quick shower and changed, and then presented himself back at her door. It has occurred to him that he was feeling and behaving like a teenager about to go on his first real date. Not that Danny ever did that when he was that age. His teenage relationships - if they could be called that - tended to be quick, physical, and as far from traditional dating as can be.

She wore a blue dress. A dark navy blue that made her hair seem golden-red. And no glasses. Danny guessed she had contacts on, but he wasn't sure. She also attempted high heels, though she clearly wasn't comfortable in them, and Danny felt that familiar by now lump in his throat. It was strange, but everything she did either charmed him or made him want to comfort her.

He picked a semi-obscure, little Italian place not far from home. He's been there before and liked it for it's Old World charm and its excellent food. They were now settled in a booth, sheltered from the rest of the dining public. This was a date. There was no other interpretation for it, even though neither of them acknowledged it as such.

She ordered red wine, he asked for a glass of ice water with lemon. He steeled himself for a question, but none came. Audrey either didn't think it was strange that he didn't drink, or chose not to pester him with inquiries. A memory of a disastrous first date a few years ago came to him unbidden. The girl was pretty but vacuous, and, as it turned out, without a sense of humor. She didn't have any qualms in asking him why he didn't drink, and when he told her jokingly "Because I'm pregnant," she didn't even smile.

"So, Danny, can I ask you something?"

Here it comes. "Fire away."

"Why the FBI? If it's not too personal a question."

"Not at all. And the short answer is that I fell into it sort of sideways. The long answer would be that I found myself wandering a bit after graduating College and this came along. I took a chance, and it turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made."

He paused but she didn't interrupt and kept looking at him expectantly.

He continued. "I graduated NYU with a degree in sociology. Why sociology, you may well ask? Because I didn't know what to do with myself, and the program offered a wide area of studies and research. I didn't mind digging for information - a skill, I might add, that has served me well in my present employment - and I could, sort of, always write. That is, I could spin a yarn in an entertaining way, and you have to be able to do that with those often dry research papers. Not that I overextended myself in College, mind you. I've skated by with most professors on the fact that I was "promising." I also tended to test well when required. Some of it I found truly fascinating, and some I just tolerated. You know, the usual College career. Once I graduated, though, I looked around, and before I knew it, I was a minor research assistant in a giant Human Resource Management company, and all I did was shuffle papers. Six months of this, and I was getting so restless, I scared myself. Then I ran into this guy I knew from College. In NYU he was prelaw, and I thought he's gone on to some law school. Turns out, he decided to take a test and try to get into the Bureau. On a whim I asked him how one went about it. Long story short, I made it. He didn't. But he doesn't hold it against me, since he did land in a law school eventually, and is now very happily working his way up to a junior partner somewhere in D.C."

Danny stopped and took a sip of his water. Somewhere in the middle of his recitation, their food came. Neither of them were eating, though. Audrey regarded Danny thoughtfully.

"Must have been some change, from research to the FBI."

"It was and it wasn't. We still did a lot of writing in Quantaco. And some research. But mostly, it was exciting. And it still is, even though on days like today, it can all feel so futile."

"What happened?"

"Oh, it's an ongoing thing with this elderly man who disappeared, and no one seems to know where or why. The guy truly lived for others. He grew up during World War II. His father didn't came back. He helped his mother raise two younger children. Then, when she remarried and the stepfather wanted to start his family from scratch, he took his siblings and moved out with them. He was 17 at the time. He worked two jobs, put his kid brother through vocational school, payed for his sister's wedding and then supported her and her kids when he husband got killed in an industrial accident. He finally got married himself, had two children, nursed his wife through a long and debilitating illness. When she died he never remarried but took care of his kids, and did it well. He worked several jobs simultaneously throughout all his life. He never went anywhere, he never bought anything for himself except an occasional vehicle. He put his kids through college and marriages, and then baby-sat their children. He saved up somehow and put a down-payment for his daughter's house. And several days ago he walked out on the street and never came back. And it doesn't look good. And I can't stop thinking that people like that should not find themselves in danger or in any kind of harm. That it's just not fair. I am not naive, believe me. And I know that shit happens randomly to the best of us. I am also not a deeply religious person. And yet I always hope against hope that there is some kind of a cosmic justice, and that people like these are rewarded, not punished."

Audrey kept looking at him, and something in her eyes silenced Danny. She extended her arm and touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. It was a fleeting gesture and a very light one, but it was charged with such tenderness that Danny found himself almost crying.

"You are such a good person."

He swallowed a sound between a laughter and a sob.

"I am really not. You don't know me. Believe me, I am full of flaws, and problems, and base thoughts, and uncontrollable bad deeds I am ashamed to admit to. . . . You just met me."

"I met you yesterday. I can't believe I met you yesterday! And I won't even use that go-to cliche, declaring that I feel as if I've known you all my life. Because the truth is, I don't. I feel like I just met you. And I am not even entirely certain that I didn't invent you. But, for whatever reason, you are suddenly the center of my life, and it scares me so much I almost wish I hadn't met you! And you are right, I don't know you at all. But I know this: you care. You give a shelter to an abandoned cat, even though you don't like it much. You take covert care of an old woman with no one to care for her. Yes, I know about that, I've made Mrs. Fuller's acquaintance this morning. You get upset about an old man whom you haven't met, and whose disappearance is nothing to you but a way to get a paycheck. And you stop and listen at my door in the evenings to make sure I am safe and sound inside."

She stopped and looked around, as if suddenly realizing they were in a public place after all.

"And you look really hot in suit and tie," she added with a smile, braking the somber and charged mood. "That's all a girl needs to know for the first several days of a relationship."

"So, this is a relationship, then?"

"Of course it is, Mr. Taylor! Do you think I will let a gentleman hold my hand like that if it weren't?" She asked, mock indignation in her voice.

Danny suddenly realized that he never let go of her hand when he took it after she touched his cheek.

"I see you've got standards and practices. Good to know." He took a deep breath and decided to go for it. "What do your rules say about spending a night with a gentleman you are in a relationship with?"

She looked down at their joined hands, her expression unreadable. Then she looked straight into his eyes.

"Standards and practices are for hand-holding only. Spending the night is optional."

She was smiling now, those dimples in full effect.

"Of course, it's an option that I strongly recommend the gentleman in question should exercise fully."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! 

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**OK, I am continuing this, due, in part, to all the kind and generous things that were said in reviews. I appreciate it so much! Thank you, guys. :)**

**Anmodo, please don't cry. LOL. I read your stories and they are largely what inspired me to write this in the first place! Believe me, you've captured Danny amazingly well! I can't wait to read more of your Danny:)**

They made their way home in almost complete silence. The silence was, if not altogether uncomfortable, at least charged. They were both suddenly nervous.

Oscar greeted them at Danny's door with a look and a hiss so full of wounded feelings that both Danny and Audrey laughed with relief. It was good to have this diversion. It made the occasion less of an event and more of a natural thing.

"I think he doesn't like me. I believe he is jealous." Audrey said.

"Oh, Oscar doesn't really like anybody. Not even Mrs. Fuller. However, he grudgingly acknowledges our general usefulness as food and shelter providers, and looks upon you as an unnecessary destruction." Danny rubbed the indignant tabby behind his ear, and reached for the can of cat food.

"Am I? A destruction?"

Danny looked up from his sitting position by the cat bowl, his eyes suddenly so dark Audrey had to catch her breath.

"You have no idea."

The charged atmosphere was back in full force. Oscar, perhaps sensing something, turned his back to the couple and proceeded to eat his food with an air of an injured dignity.

Danny got up and straightened out, hands tagging at his jacket nervously as if on their own accord.

"Before we do . . . anything, I need to tell you something."

Audrey felt an uncontrollable panic, more so because of the look of grim determination in his eyes than the tone of his voice. She should have known. There's always something.

"I am an alcoholic."

Audrey took a deep breath. "Is that all? God, I thought you were going to tell me you were married, or used to be a woman or something! This, I kind of suspected already. No beer or anything alcoholic in your fridge, water at the restaurant. . . ."

"You make light of this, but you have no idea of the risks inherent to getting involved with an addict!"

"No, I can't say I do, but I am willing to find out. Are you drinking now?"

"No, but that's not. . . ."

"How long have you been sober?"

"Eight years, four months and 3 days. And I am still counting the days. I will be counting them, realistically, for the rest of my life. I've made my peace with that, and I go to the meetings twice a week like a clockwork, even though I am not certain that they are any longer necessary. But, it's a routine by now, and I find that routine helps, and I can't take a chance of being wrong on this."

"Are you missing a meeting tonight?"

"No. Monday and Thursday nights is when I go. If work permits, and if not, I take a Sunday meeting. But I never miss a week."

"See, you are able to commit to this. . . ."

"Not able, forced to, and it's still a huge risk, Audrey."

"Yes, it is. But so is practically anything in life. I took a risk quitting my job and taking out loans to go to graduate school. I took a risk coming to New York. Hell, I take a risk every time I cross a street. Doesn't mean I shouldn't do it! I hope I am always able to take a risk for something that's worth it!"

"You say that now. . . ."

"It's all I can say. Now is all we have. I can't see into the future. If I waited for that kind of a confirmation, I would never do anything. All relationships are risks, Danny."

"Yes, they are, without compounding my kind of problems onto them. I am a risk with diminished returns."

Audrey looked at him with a discerning smile. "Are you trying to discourage me or yourself?"

"You. I am beyond discouragement. I want this. But I also want . . . no, I _need _ you to be fully aware of what you are signing up for."

"I stand fully warned."

"Audrey, please, be serious. This is too important. . . ."

"Yes, it is. But what do you want me to say? That I believe in you so implicitly that I am not worried? That we can absolutely brave come what may? That I am not petrified out of my mind? I can't! I won't stand here and lie to you that I know what I'm doing and that I am confident of the outcome. I don't know if we can do this. I don't know if those overwhelming feelings I have for you will even last! I don't know anything! God, there are so many things, so many mundane, little things that can destroy the best of relationships! I am often amazed anyone is willing to start anything at all! People fall out of love all the time, without some cataclysmic events or tragic flaws inciting them. . . . Danny, I can't promise you anything. I can't say that I won't freak out should you fall off the wagon. All I can swear to is that I want this . . . want you . . . more than I am afraid of any future possible consequences."

Danny stood in the middle of the kitchen, his face unreadable, his eyes half-shut, his hands clenched in front of him.

Audrey closed the gap between them.

"Danny, say something!"

He opened his eyes. There were tears in them. He reached for her face with both hands, cupping it gently. His thumbs stroked her temples as he pressed his lips to hers. Lightly but insistently.

"Let's go to bed."

"So, end of discussion then?" She was kissing him now fully, letting him know that contentious tone in her voice was basically a foreplay.

"Not even close. But we can continue this very enlightening conversation later."

"Are you sure you'd want to?"

"Probably not. I should probably keep going now, talk you out of this, save you from yourself. But, see, my powers of reasoning, as well as my ability to talk at all, are sadly deserting me just this moment."

"Good! There are much better things you can be doing with your mouth right now."

They were laughing as they hit the bed.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Danny walk up with a start. It was dark, and a glance at his alarm o'clock told him that it was just after 3 a.m. It wasn't unusual for him to wake up in the middle of the night. His job and his natural habits rendered him a light sleeper.

What was unusual was the feeling of something pressed against his back. Something warm, soft, and breathing. Memories hit him like a flood: soft, hot lips against his neck; fingers full of tension pressing into his back; whispered words that made absolutely no literal sense, but were the best and most endearing sounds he could ever hear; that intoxicating feel of bare skin against bare skin that made him light-headed; the smell of her hair - like apples, Danny thought - that overwhelmed him and made him want to cry for some reason; and the frantic, and ultimately futile, desire not to leave any bruises or marks. He failed miserably at that, Danny thought ruefully. Then again, she left her share of marks on him, and she dismissed any attempts at apologies on his part.

He felt her stir and kiss him somewhere between his shoulder blades. Danny laughed and turned to face her.

"You are awake!" He said accusatory.

"So?" She squinted one eye at him. "You didn't invite me here to sleep, did you?"

"But you let me sleep! That's not fair. You should have woken me."

"No way. You are too cute when you sleep. Do you know you mumble in Spanish? I don't even know what you said, but it was hot!"

Danny smiled and propped himself up, getting a better view of her face. With an index finger he started to trace the bridge of her nose.

"What are you doing? Do I have something there?"

"Sure you do. Four most adorable freckles I've ever seen. I am playing 'connect the dots.' with them."

"You can see them in the dark?"

"Not very clearly, but they are forever burned into my memory."

"Damn it. And I was so hoping you wouldn't notice! I've tried so hard to get rid of them!"

"Why? Don't you dare! They are endearing! And so absolutely you." Danny never stopped tracing them with his finger.

"They are me, all right! I've been battling them my entire life! These four are nothing. Wait 'till spring. Then you'll really be able to play 'connect the dots.'" But she said it with a smile, letting him know that she wasn't considering them as big a grievance as she pretended.

"I can't wait." Danny pulled her closer, kissing the offending specs on her nose.

Audrey sighed.

"So, that conversation you threatened to continue. . . ."

"Yes?"

"I just have to ask: do you issue such cautionary statements to all the women you get involved with?"

"I don't normally get involved."

"Huh. I see. Are you going to tell me you lead a celibate life? Because, my friend, I won't believe that for a second."

"No, I just lead an unattached life. Or, rather, led. I usually have encounters, not relationships."

"I see. A "drive-by" guy."

"No. That would imply malicious intent, and I never intent to hurt. Which is exactly why I tried not to get involved lately. I simply sought out women who wanted the same thing I do: someone to be with some of the time, without the messy complications that inevitably accompany a deeper commitment."

"Hmm. And how do you know that these women wanted just that? How do you know they didn't tell you what they thought you wanted to hear, hoping all the time that they'll be able to change your mind later on?"

"I don't. But I trusted them to take me at my word. I didn't lie to them, I didn't promise anything, and if they chose to think that I wasn't being sincere, that was their issue, not mine."

"And you say, you didn't intent to hurt?"

"Never. And your assumption that I hurt them nonetheless and simply ignored that fact is wrong. I am not naive. Like I told you before, there are some things I've done that I am not proud of. But I hope I am never callous enough to promise something I can't deliver and then just walk away. . . . No, Audrey, I do not hit and run. Or drive by. Or whatever vehicular metaphor you chose to use. And the tangible proof of this is the fact that tonight was my first time in seven months."

Audrey lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up into his face with mock horror.

"Why, Danny, seven moths? You are practically a virgin! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No." He smiled back, his smile fading slowly. "You didn't hurt me. But I'm afraid you might."

"I sense that." She wasn't joking anymore. She ran her fingers through his hair. "And yet, here you are. Involved up to your ears. Because, Danny, I am not going anywhere. Setting aside the fact that I am literally next door and there's nowhere for you to hide, I am informing you that I have made up my mind to be brave, and you will just have to follow."

She set up, wrapping a comforter around herself and Danny - a dark green island of warmth.

"You know, my mother is probably the most frightened woman on Earth. She didn't used to be that way, or so I am told. But she allowed a disappointment crush her so profoundly, she is no longer capable of happiness. According to her, she and my father were so in love once! They met when they were both 24, and it was mutual, and it was right, and, more importantly, it was so suitable. ("Suitable" is a favorite word with my mother.) They were both ready for something serious and permanent. They were compatible. From compatible backgrounds. They liked each other's families and friends. They had similar interests. They were both active and lively. They traveled together. And they planned to have me about 3 years after their wedding. And I arrived right on schedule. . . . And then the problems started. Mother turned out to be one of those fiercely maternal types that throw themselves into the job to the total exclusion of everything and everyone else. Dad got pushed into a periphery, and he didn't like it there. May be it would have changed after some years, when I got older and could assert some independence, but he didn't stick around to find out. Like a lot of people, he realized that what he thought he wanted and what he really needed were vastly different things."

Audrey fiddled with a pillow corner absentmindedly. Danny didn't say anything. He simply stroked her arm in silent encouragement.

"I was too little to remember, but, the family tell has it, the shouting matches were legendary. Though, brief, apparently, because he left when I was 14 months old. Mother accused him of being a fraud, a philandered, a coward, an unfit father, and an all-around jerk. She kept expecting him to disgrace himself by hooking up with some fun-loving 19-year old that would go gallivating the world with him and won't think of having children for years to come. Who, in short, will give him the life that he once had with mother, minus screaming infant and a neglected house. And, for a while, it looked like she was onto something. I kept perpetually being introduced to the bright young things on my days with dad. None of them stuck, though, and then, when I was about 7, dad shocked everyone by marrying a woman 11 years his senior, with 2 teenage children and no social savvy, who made her own jam, for god's sake, and called everyone "pumpkin." . . . They are still together, by the way, and mother has never recovered. It baffled her so. That he would want with that woman - that inconsequential, unintelligible, older woman - what he didn't want with her? No, not even that! That dad would want something that's infinitely less glamorous and ultimately more difficult. I think it would have been much easier for my mom if father was out there living a cliche with some model-type half his age. That she expected and would have relished. As it is, she can make no sense of what happened, and, without sense, there's no order and no security for her. No comfort. No possible good outcome. And no justice."

Audrey slid down the pillow and burrowed her face in the nook of Danny's shoulder. He kissed her hair, inhaling that subtle apple smell he was growing addicted to, and tightened his embrace.

"I watched mother freeze more and more over the years. Not quiet into a complete icicle, but into that eternally cautious person that looks upon everyone as if silently asking: what horrible surprises have you got up your sleeve, and what god-awful disappointments will you inflict upon me if I let you near? She never remarried. She never so much as had a relationship again. She wears her bitterness and her mistrust as if they were badges of honor, and I cannot tell you the number of times she cautioned me against anything remotely or potentially interesting. Including every single one of my relationships. Of which, admittedly, were weren't many. . . . And the sad thing is, she is a gifted person. She could have offered so much, done so much, been so many things. . . ."

Audrey took a deep breath and smiled: "I'm sorry, I'm probably boring you with this."

Danny kissed her in protest. "Not at all. I want you to tell me things. I want you to feel free to tell me anything."

"God, you are nice! But I am painfully aware of how weird - if not pathological - it is to be lying in bed with you and talking about my mother. The reason I am telling you this is because I want you to know that what I said this evening wasn't said in grandstanding. I am no braver than the next person, but when it comes down to it, I am more afraid of fear and what it can do - what it can rob us of - than of anything else."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**Again, I cannot thank enough all the wonderful people who responded to this story. Especially considering how slowly it builds up. I swear, I meant it to be a short one, but it seems to have its own will and there's nothing I can do but write it the way it wants to be written. :) Anmodo, Fionaf20uk, yaba, Mariel3, Jacks Girl formerly Mrs Malone, rozzy07, SpyMaster, Politik - my debt of gratitude!**

**And, anmodo, I promise that I meant this to have a plot, but it seems to want to hide in all the dialog! I am helpless. :)**

"Oh, good, you're here!" Jack said it as if he didn't really expect Danny to show up at all.

"Jack, I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. Well, that's not true. My alarm didn't go off, and I simply didn't wake up." Danny was officially 12 minutes late. Not an earth-shuttering lateness, but Danny was known for being the first one in, usually way before the official time, and, therefore, today's tardiness stuck out.

Jack waived his hand in dismissal. "Don't worry about it. We've got what looks like a tangible lead. Finally."

They've huddled around the conference table and Jack slid a piece of paper in front of them.

"A phone call. Yesterday. We've followed up and it looks promising. Someone is coming forward and it's about time: Kevin Markham's face's been plastered all over the media for four days now!"

He lifted a piece of paper and revealed the photo underneath.

"David "Moses" Selby. Has a photo-processing lab in Yonkers, and has made himself comfortable on the local PD's "shit" list for a while now. No hard evidence to haul him in, but it is well known that his specialty is forged documents. Passports. Drivers licences. Birth Certificates. You name it."

"Moses?" Vivian lifted one quizzical brow.

"Yeah, because he helps people to _the promised land_."

"I get it. Cute. And how does he connect with our guy?"

"We have someone who claims to have positively seen our guy on two separate occasions entering Moses' lab in the past month."

"This could be something. This could explain the thrown out wallet. New identity?"

Sam shook her head. "Why? Why would Mr. Markham need a new identity? There's absolutely nothing in this guy's life that would suggest he was running. There are no financial entanglements. There are no run-ins with either side of the law. There's nothing criminal, suspicious, or otherwise questionable anywhere! Why would he need to walk out on his life with a whole new set of documents? It just doesn't make sense."

Danny sat there silently for a while. "You know, not for nothing, but sometimes people want to change their lives, not because they are running from something criminal or otherwise bad, but because they have reached a dead end. I mean, how many cases have we had with people who just walked out? Now, admittedly, this guy is not the type, but what do we really know about him? About how he felt and what he thought? We have the facts, but are we interpreting them correctly? I think we were looking at this all wrong."

Four faces turned to Danny. Vivian with concern and understanding, Sam with attention, Martin with a slightly perplexed look, and Jack, as always, unreadable.

"We have talked to the numerous people in his life and all of them say basically the same thing: well-adjusted, well-meaning, caring man, who's spent his life in the service of others. Nothing earth-shuttering has happened to him in the past months. No single event, no crimes committed either by or against him. Soft-spoken, easygoing, well-meaning. Reliable. Always there when you need him." Danny paused, not for effect, but to think through how to best put it.

"What if that's the reason. Nothing happened to this man in the course of his life that didn't involve benefiting others. Nothing happened lately but the fact that he is 78, and his health is deteriorating rapidly, more so recently than before. And everyone around him is so used to him being a rock, taking care of them, helping with work, with money, with time. . . . What if no big event was necessary, but the sum total of his life just caught up with him? We are looking for a proverbial last straw, but, really, that could be anything. A littlest, insignificant thing that finally did it."

"So, what you're saying is the guy got sick and tired of everyone's needs and expectations and decided to just walk out?"

"Not as simple as that, but, yeah. We looked at his financials: they are in order. A little too much in order. Every "t" is crossed and ever "i" is dotted. His daughter's house, the one he gave a down-payment for? It's almost payed off now. By Mr. Markham. His apartment in Forrest Hills? The lease runs out at the end of next month. He's been sent renewal papers, but he hasn't signed them. Over the last year he has closed his two bank accounts and opened a new one. Joint one with his daughter. He also opened a small market account in his sister's name. My first thought was: they guy was preparing to die. But then, why not simply make a will, leaving various things to various people. Why do it that way? And, given his medical records, he had a lot of ailments, but nothing that spelled imminent demise."

"OK, all right, so he wanted to disappear. And it wasn't a spur of a moment thing." Jack was brainstorming. "He buys himself a new identity. He, probably, sets up some cash somewhere, he arranges the rest of his finances to benefit his numerous dependents. . . . Why not just retire to Florida? Why not simply say: family, I'm done. Why the elaborate ruse?"

"May be it's as simple as that he was embarrassed and couldn't face them?" Martin joined in. "I mean, the guy has spoiled them all their lives. Not intentionally, but that's what it comes down to. They knew he would always bail them out. He would always take on their problems. He would baby-sit their kids, and their kids' kids. I guess the guy may have had enough and couldn't just tell them so. Or, he knew - or thought he knew - that they wouldn't just let him walk."

"OK, at this point, it's all speculation. One good thing is that we may not be looking for a body after all. I'm going to go and see Moses. Tell him his 40 years are up. Martin, you are with me."

Jack grabbed his jacket. "Viv, Danny, Sam - you guys will have to re-interview all the relatives. I know we've talked to them multiple times already, but we are going to be asking different questions now. We need to know what and how often Mr. Markham did for them. And we need to know if he ever talked about places he would have liked to visit. I need to know if there's something, somewhere, he'd be running toward."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam shivered in the passenger seat. "God, when is this winter supposed to end! I hate the cold!"

Danny chuckled. "You know, for a Midwestern girl, you mind the cold a little too much."

"Oh, yeah? Well, for a Florida boy, you are way too tolerant toward it!"

They were on their way to Long Island, to interview, once again, Mr. Markham's daughter.

"I no longer consider myself a Florida boy. I am a New Yorker, and, as such, no weather is too bad, and no condition is too tough."

"Well, I am a New Yorker as well, and as such, I reserve my right to complain about all the fine weather and all the excellent conditions!"

They shared a laugh as Danny made for the High Way exit.

"So, Danny, who's the girl?"

He was startled out of his reverie.

"What girl?"

"Come on, Danny," Sam smiled up at him. "You overslept. You wear this goofy grin for several days now. Your mind wonders. And let me be the first to tell you: that shirt color doesn't quite cover the love bite on your neck."

"Oh, God!" Danny found himself actually blushing. "Is it obvious?"

"Only to people with eyes."

"OK, fine, laugh at me, I don't care. I am too happy to care. And no, I am not telling you about it."

"Because you don't kiss and tell?"

"Yes, that, and because this is too important to even speak of yet."

"Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you like this."

"You haven't. And let's drop it. Let's talk about something else instead. Let's talk about you and Martin."

"Right, because that's not an unsafe subject at all."

"Why should it be? It can't be trouble in paradise already?" Danny's serious eyes belied the flippancy of his tone.

"I don't mean to pry, Sam, and I don't expect you to give me the gory details. I just can't help noticing that Martin is troubled and you are edgy. I can't . . . I won't give you advice, because, goodness knows, I am the least qualified person to do so. But I am a good listener, and I tend not to judge. So, if you need to unload, you know I am there, right?"

She was biting her lower lip. "I know, Danny. And thank you. Honestly, I wish I could tell you what it is, but that would mean I can explain it. And I can't even explain it to Martin. Let's just say that I am trying. Trying my hardest to make this work. And the effort sometimes takes a lot out of me. And out of this relationship. I think, may be, it shouldn't be this hard, but then, I wouldn't know. I am not all that experienced in functional, positive ones. In fact, when things look like they can be smooth, that's when I tend to run. And I don't want to run anymore. . . . If this makes any sense."

"It does. . . . I hope it gets easier. Martin, doofus though he may be, is a really nice guy." Danny smiled. "He can be the One. . . . Or not. I bet those thoughts in themselves are frightening. Believe me, I hear you loud and clear. . . . I also think that you want to be damn sure, and you can't be, because what you _know _is good for you, and what you _feel _is good for you aren't always the same things. I had a lesson in that just last night. An interesting story you may get to hear some day."

They went the rest of the way in thoughtful silence.

XXXXXXXX

She was sitting on the floor mat by his door when he exited the elevator. Oscar - the traitor - was dosing comfortably on her lap.

"We have got to break you out of this cold floor-sitting habit." Danny felt a rush. A wave of happiness just from seeing her. And may be he wasn't so shocked by the feeling.

"I like sitting on cold floors. It gives me an interesting perspective and toughens me up against the elements." Audrey flushed her dimples and extended her arm to Danny. He lifted her up and held on to her while opening the door.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"I was waiting for you. And before you scold me and tell me you would have stopped at my place, you should know that such rational thought is completely out of my reach right now. All I could think was that tonight is Thursday night, and that you had a meeting, and that you might not be in the mood to see me. So I decided to take that decision out of your hands. Yes, you might as well know right now: I am going to be a nuisance, and I refuse to apologize for it."

"I see. So, your plan to end up living on the floor in the hallway was never abandoned completely. Poor Stevie, he may yet lose his racing ground. Oscar, I notice, has already been won over." Danny took the sleepy cat out of Audrey's arms and deposited him on the floor. Then he enveloped her in a hug, kissing her face.

"I will live there if I have to." She was only half joking. "How was the meeting, or should I not be asking?"

"It's OK. I told you about it. You can ask anything you want. It was, to be honest with you, boring. But then, it's a reassuring boredom. The kind that fills you with contentment." He looked into her upturned face, his eyes sending a calming signal. "I am good, Audrey. I am better than good."

They stood, wrapped in each other, for what felt like forever.

"Are you hungry? I actually have real groceries today! I can cook you something mildly complex and marginally nutritious in no time at all!" She swang into action, but Danny caught her mid-stride.

"I am not at all hungry. AA treats - rock-hard bagels and stale coffee. It's enough to knock any appetite out of anyone. It's a great way to lose weight, actually. Have you eaten?"

Audrey made a thoughtful face. "I think so, some hours ago. Random sandwich, I believe. Or it could have been a muffin. I honestly don't remember, and I don't care. I am not hungry, either. I missed you!"

Danny picked her up, his intentions clear. But she stopped him.

"Wait! I've got some not so great news. When you left this morning, I ran to my place to shower and grab my books. There were 3 messages from my mother on my phone. And 3 more on my cell. Apparently, she called when we were out yesterday. And then she called late last night. And then again, very early this morning. Now, you may say I am 28, and my mother shouldn't be shocked that I spent a night somewhere other than my bed, but you don't know my mother. I won't bore you with details of our phone debates of today, but the upshot of it is that she is coming over tomorrow for a not-so-surprise-anymore visit. And for that read _inspection_."

Danny pressed his face into Audrey's golden hair. Apples. He missed that smell desperately all day.

"It's all right. She is worried about you. She will see that this is a safe place and that you are settling well. What's the problem?"

"The problem is, she meddles. Her last "surprise visit" resulted in my moving here."

"Well, then, by all means, I want to meet the lady and thank her personally!"

"You will do no such thing! You'll give her a heart-attack." Audrey sighed. "She showed up out of the blue in my previous place. I've been sharing an apartment with two other girls. Both from Columbia, both undergards. Found their ad on a bulletin board when I first got accepted. The place was tiny, but doable, and, by New York standards, inexpensive. Anyway, it was all I could afford, and they seemed like inoffensive enough girls. Granted, they were teenagers and in a major party mode, but I am used to dealing with teenagers, and, luckily, the apartment was way too small for any grand-scale partying. Their usual MO was a small shindig Friday night, followed by a weekend-long club hopping. It suited me fine, since I got the place to myself during those times."

Audrey laughed suddenly.

"The look on her face! You see, she showed up Friday night! Right in the middle of a shindig. And there was nothing I could do, no words I could use, to convince her that this "den of sin," as she so originally dubbed it, did not look like that all week. It was the worst possible time for her to come, but then again, she does have that going for her. Impeccably bad timing. Long and very graphic story short, and she found me this place thought a friend of a friend who knows a Real Estate agent. I went kicking and screaming, because I can't pay for this apartment myself, and she went and signed the lease and payed for a year in advance without so much as consulting me. But I went, because it is a nice place, and because she has already given them the check, and because I know how futile it is to argue with her sometimes."

"So, what are you afraid of? That she will consider it her right to tell you what to do, now that she has financial investment?"

"Well, there's no telling what she will consider her due. But she knows that I can be just as stubborn as she is, and that no matter what she says or does, I will do what I consider right in the end."

"Then, why are you panicking?"

"I am not panicking. I just really don't want to go 15 rounds with her right now. I don't want to explain myself, or you, or us, to her or anybody else. I just want to be with you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**And here's one: a chapter completely devoid of a plot! LOL. I couldn't help it. But it's an intermediate part that I feel is necessary, and the story is far from over. The luxury of writing fan fiction is that one can indulge in a slow, detailed character development. And because people have responded to that, I feel freer to allow myself this indulgence.**

**Again, thank you, guys, for your reviews. I am running out of ways to express my gratitude, but, please, don't think that I am any less grateful! Because it's a wonderful feeling to hear that people actually enjoy this story. **:)

"Wake up, sleepy head!" Danny shook Audrey gently by the shoulder.

"Get away from me," came her grumpy voice smothered by a pillow. "I hate you. I hate everyone this early in the morning."

Danny laughed - a full, happy laughter that he found himself capable of at a surprisingly frequent rate these past several days.

"Audrey, honey, before you turn homicidal, drink this." He propped her up in a sitting position, chuckling at her pout, and handed her a steaming cup.

"Gah! No offence, but this liquid you so charitably call coffee is foul, dangerous, and is probably illegal in at least 35 States!"

"I know! Isn't it great?"

"OK, you are officially weird."

"Tell you what: take a sip, get your eyes opened, and then we will see about procuring you some real breakfast beverage."

"Why, why, why did you wake me so early?" She was wining, but her smile was genuine, and she was holding on to Danny's hand in a gentlest of ways.

"Because, you have a seminar at 10, I have work at 8:30, and we have decided last night that we would make your place look at least marginally lived-in before your mother shows up this afternoon."

"We did? Were we smoking anything at the time? 'Cause there's no way we can unload all those boxes and untangle all these clothes between now and 7:30!"

"Actually, it's more like between now and 7:00, because I want to take you out to breakfast." He laughed again at the face she made. "The good news is, while you slept, I've already unpacked most of your boxes in the other room, and, I flatter myself, arranged them in not altogether unappealing manner."

Audrey got out of bed and sauntered into the small living room.

"Whoa! You weren't kidding! When did you do that? Did you sleep at all? And how come I didn't wake up?"

"Between 1:30 and 5:00 a.m. No, I didn't. And I took care to be quiet."

"Wow. I mean, wow. Danny, don't take this the wrong way, because I don't want you to think for a second that I don't realize or appreciate how lucky I am, but you can't spoil me like this. For one thing, you need to sleep! You have a demanding job, not to mention, a demanding girlfriend. We, both of us, need you rested. What are you doing, cutting boxes and hauling books in the middle of the night!"

"I couldn't sleep. Correction: I didn't want to. I don't sleep much on any given night, Audrey. Honestly, it's a quirk I had all my life. It's not a big departure for me. You wouldn't believe the amount of books I've read and the number of sites I've visited because of this insomnia. My erudition has expanded greatly, as well as my ability to shock the hell out of my friends with the breadth of useless knowledge I posses. . . . I don't need much to recuperate. And when I do, I sleep. Seriously, it's not a problem."

She regarded him sceptically, genuine concern in her eyes. Danny smiled at her sheepishly.

"To tell you the whole truth, I didn't want to sleep last night. I don't remember a time in my life when I felt this happy, this elated, this . . . well. And I am afraid that it might not last, or something might spoil it. But mostly, I just don't want to lose a single moment. . . . So, I shuffled some books, and, from time to time, looked in on you sleeping. You know, counted the freckles, just to make sure they didn't go anywhere."

"Oh, God, were that they would!"

Danny kissed her nose. "Not a chance! They and I have an understanding. We signed a contract while you slept. They are staying firmly put."

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you when they have some friends joining them later on!"

While Audrey grabbed a shower, Danny did a final once-over in the living room. A few chairs and a small table that she brought with her fitted well in-between the built-in book shelves. And, Danny thought, books were, after all, the best decoration. The room, covered with all those unpacked books, looked lived-in and comfortable. None of that desolate air that the newly moved-in rooms normally tend to have. He thought Mrs. Mills should be comforted by this. Admittedly, he didn't know the woman, but what concerned parent won't be reassured by the site of a cozy space that spelled studying, introspection, and calm.

"Checking out my collection?" Audrey stood in the doorway, wrapped in a yellow towel, wide awake smile lighting her face up. "Impressive, huh?"

"Yes, it is, and now I know why the boxes were so darn heavy."

"Some women buy shoes, I collect books. Not that I go shoeless, mind you, but given a choice. . . ."

"I can see that. Also, they last longer than shoes. Very practical of you."

"Indeed. That's me: practical. Plus, they are an investment. I intend to plagiarize at least half of them when I am 60 and publishing my own book."

"60? Is that procrastination or you just plan to be very, very thorough?"

"Neither. I just intend to get really good before I attempt anything."

"And very wise, too." Danny started opening some books at random, waiting for Audrey to get dressed.

"You know, Danny," she called from the other room, continuing the conversation, "I think it was Flannery O'Connor who said that anyone who has survived childhood has enough material to write about for the rest of their lives. Now, she is not my favorite author, but I think she is right on this one. So, I wonder if _you _should write a book. Any chain of events that led to the forming of you has got to be interesting, and you told me yourself you could always spin a yarn."

Danny turned towards the door to her bedroom. He was smiling, but he was thankful that she couldn't see it. The smile was sad.

"Any book I would write about my childhood would greatly resemble the Book of Job. And who'd want to read a whiny downer? I mean, outside of the Bible."

She came out of the bedroom, her face worried.

"That bad, huh?"

"It's nothing," he rushed to reassure her. "I mean, like you said, a childhood is usually a tale of survivor, but I doubt it would be interesting to anyone but myself."

"I am interested," she said quietly. "You don't have to tell me, let alone write a book, but if or when you feel you want to, you should know: I am interested."

XXXXXX

"So, tell me again, why am I supposed to declare to this Mother character that I am a nice girl?" Audrey, her hand gripping Danny's elbow, looked up questioningly as they crossed the street.

"Because, Mama Arevalo wouldn't part with me for anyone who wasn't." Danny guided her firmly around a frozen bit of the pavement. "Caro is very discerning and, if you pass the master with her, I just might keep you."

"Oh, no! You should have told me my future was at stake! I would not have worn my "Good-bye Civil Liberties" T-shirt! I should have stayed away from political statements and put on something serious and demure. Like an argyle sweater or a Doily. And pulled my hair in a bun."

Danny laughed at the mental image. "I think you are confusing Mama Arevalo with your own mother. I don't think Caro would be able to pick an argyle sweater out of a lineup, and I doubt she would expect a bun in anyone under the age of 60. Plus, you can always keep your coat on. I doubt she'll demand you strip down to your T-shirt. . . . Relax, she is easy and all you need to do is assure her that you intend to make me wear a hat in winter. She'd be yours for life."

"Really? That's all it would take?"

"You say that now, but try and make me do that, and you will know why that's such a crucial point."

"Ah, I see, not a hat fan. Never mind, I will buy you a big, flabby-eared, fur-lined one to wear specifically inside that restaurant. You'll get Mama off your back, and I'll get a good laugh every morning."

"That's the spirit!"

They entered the Casa holding hands and giggling. Like a pair of children, Danny thought, and the idea didn't trouble him as it would have done in the past.

"Caro! Good morning!"

"Hi, there, gorgeous! You back! I miss you. Two days you stay away."

"It was unavoidable, but I am back now. You have me completely addicted to your coffee, and I wanted you to meet someone. Caro, this is Audrey. I lured her here with a promise of your excellent omelette. Oh, and I should tell you: she is a nice girl." Danny's smile was as broad as it was full of meaning.

Mama Arevalo gave Audrey an open and unabashed once-over that women of her age can sometimes get away with.

"She is skinny." Was the result of Caro's inspection. "You come here often," she addressed Audrey directly. "I will get you all plumb and nice looking." The words might have been offensive if they weren't said with the warmest and most genuine of smiles.

"You make him eat, too! He never eats! I make you two nice omelettes. With peppers."

They squeezed behind a tiny table by the window. Audrey looked toward the kitchen where the proprietress had disappeared.

"I think I like her. She says what she means, and she seems very fond of you."

"She is amazing. She built up this business with practically nothing. Her husband is a sweet, quiet man, but he isn't much help with anything other than the actual, physical labor. He doesn't speak much of English, and the tougher business details elude him completely. Caro's raised four children. Lost one not so long ago. There were several times in her life that she has had to pick herself up and start from scratch. And yet, she is not bitter, or mean-spirited, or any less energetic. And she is hopeful and always willing to see good in people, no matter what."

"Sounds like she is an inspiration."

"She is. In many ways. She is a fighter. I admire that. In people in general, in women. In you."

"Oh, and there I was thinking that what you admired in me were my other, more external qualities."

Danny laughed and gave Audrey a speculative look, not unlike the one given to her by Mama Arevalo earlier, but with much more meaning to it.

"Well, who says I can't admire both?"

Caro came over with a tray of two steaming plates and two cups of coffee. In her other hand she held a larger plate with a festive cake.

"We celebrate, yes? Danny found nice girl. I knew all he said before was nonsense!"

"Well, Mamacita, what was I supposed to do? You turned me down time and time again!"

"Ah, you kid. He kids." she informed Audrey just in case. "You take care of him. He is nice boy. Not many around."

"I know, Mrs. Arevalo. Believe me, I know." Audrey's voice was quieter and her smile reflective. "I am lucky."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**And here comes the full-on angst. You didn't really think I'd leave them be without some trouble? Insert evil laughter here. :)**

**I apologize to Danny for yet more heartache, and I apologize to Audrey for the same. It's all their fault, anyway. They've become real to me, and what real people have a smooth sailing when it comes to love:) **

**No worries, though. I do not intent to let them suffer forever. :)**

**And, as usual, thank you to all the lovely people who posted reviews. **

"So, "Moses" delivered something, I take it?"

Vivian pored over the notes spread on the conference table. Danny noticed that she was drinking tea. Not black tea, but one of those yellowish, weird-smelling concoctions one always felt vaguely uneasy about. It was strange. Vivian was almost as addicted to coffee as Danny himself, and watching her drink something which she once alluded to as "Green Piss" filled him with apprehension. She answered his concerned look with a shrug and a smile, which Danny read as "not now, and don't worry."

"Well, he didn't deliver us to the promised land, but he did give as a map, so to speak." Jack flashed that exited smile that he reserved for those moments in their cases when they were just about to break and the resolution was in the air. At these times Jack resembled a veteran dog, picking up a scent where a younger, lesser pup would never have dreamt of searching, and making a run for it with a fire in his eyes, looking like the youngest one of them all.

"Turns out, Mr. Markham has made his acquaintance through a man named James Wheaton. Mr. Wheaton and our guy played poker together most Wednesday nights, and he informed me that Kevin Markham kept confiding in him over the course of several years how difficult it has become to carry the burdens of his life, and how he would wish that he can just disappear. He also told his poker buddy that he kept thinking more and more about Wildwood, where he and the late Mrs. Markham had honeymooned all those years ago. Clearly, the place is a sanctuary in his mind. He was happy there once. It was a short respite after the early toils of his life, and before the new ones presented themselves. And being the kind of a man that he is, he couldn't just go there to rest every now and then, because he couldn't allow himself even that short a luxury. Therefore, the memory of the place has probably taken on almost mythical romantic proportions."

Jack drummed his fingers energetically on the table. "Wheaton tells us he was the one who suggested the whole thing. He knew a fellow, who knew a guy, who needed to disappear for some far more sinister reasons than Mr. Markham's. The guy had financial troubles and no desire to deal with them. Long story short, "Moses" was mentioned, and the rest is history."

Martin helped Jack unroll a large map of Wildwood.

"Took us some time, considering the record-keeping in the late 50s, but we found where the Markhams stayed all those years ago. It was an old Inn called "The Crest," and, not surprisingly, it no longer exists. But there is a large, modern motel there now, and it's as good a place as any to look."

Half an hour later, and Jack was off to Wildwood, New Jersey. He took Sam with him. Danny knew he would never admit it, but Jack liked those long road trips with Sam.

Martin, stoic and silent, was poring over more phone records, seeing if anything connected to Wildwood. Vivian left early, for the second time this week.

Both Danny and Martin watched her leave with a fixed cheerful smile on her face.

"Did you notice? She doesn't look like herself these days."

"Yes." Danny was torn. He wanted to discuss this, see if they could make some sense of it and may be do something to help, but he was also aware that Vivian would scorn any such discussion, and he wanted to respect her wishes.

Martin persisted: "She looks distracted, too." And when Danny didn't answer, he smiled. "And so do you, Danny, though in a different way."

"God, I hope so. I would be very disturbed if it turned out Viv was going though the same kind of distractions I am. She is happily married."

"Happily married. Now there's a contradiction in terms."

"Wow, Martin, that was awfully pessimistic of you."

"Why? You are the one who always says that."

"I know," Danny nodded, "I said it was pessimistic of _you_! I am the cynical one and you are the idealist. Something's wrong in the Universe when I float in the clouds, and you are hunched over with by the world's sorrow."

"Are you? Floating?"

"Yes, and that's as far as I am willing to discuss it." Danny couldn't quite hide the grin, though. "What gives with you?"

"Ah, nothing. Everything is just fine."

Danny knew better, but, for the third time this week, decided not to press.

He contemplated the peculiarities of their group dynamic. Danny knew they all cared about each other deeply. They were all prepared to take a bullet for each other, if such a drastic step should become necessary. That much was the nature of their work coupled with the long-standing, time-seasoned trust and affection. And yet, how little did they really know about each other.

They knew the visible, factual things, of course: immediate families (or lack of thereof), an occasional parent, birthdays celebrated or ignored, sometimes shared troubles with the kids. However, things, like Jack's volatile divorce, came as a surprise, especially on the heels of his supposed move to Chicago. Not that it wasn't known that the Malone marriage was shaky, but still, the outward presentation was that they were making it work.

Or take Martin and Sam, for example. Danny found out about it only by chance, and from what both of them let drop, going public with it, even if only inside their small circle, was now a bone of contention.

Danny considered Vivian to be his closest friend within the group, and yet, the fact that she felt she couldn't confide in him - or anyone else, it seemed - filled him with a chilling kind of apprehension.

May be it was essential to their survival as a functional unit to not be in each other's lives, to not really get personal. And Danny knew he couldn't complain, not really, because, after all, he, himself, shared very little of his outside life with his coworkers-come-friends.

He let things drop here and there. Jack knew, of course, because he was privy to his personnel file. Not that Jack ever did or would pry or even mention anything. Danny felt sometimes that Jack, being a gifted psychologist, has profiled him and mentally mapped out the areas around which he should treat very carefully with Danny.

Danny told Vivian about his brother. Not the whole story, mind, but a selective, revisionist kind. Bare bones, really, and only because she happened upon him when he was signing some recommendation papers for Raphie.

Maybe being guarded came with the job. Maybe it took a certain kind of people to qualify for it in the first place. Not exactly a secretive kind, but the type that compartmentalized well.

And it was fine, Danny decided, most of the time. Being someone's friend meant that one provided what was needed, not what one _thought _was needed. And sometimes it was discretion, and patience, and something as simple as staying out of the way. Other times it was listening and helping.

Danny waved good-bye to a very thoughtful Martin, who was eating a hamburger at his desk. Martin didn't say it, but Danny knew he wasn't going home, but waiting for Jack and Sam to come back.

Danny's thoughts went to Audrey, as they inevitably did these past few days. His heart flattered. God, it was amazing to have these feelings, unencumbered by doubt, by jealousies, by the ghosts of feelings past. Ever a realist, Danny whispered to himself that this was a honeymoon high, and that the encumbrances would inevitably present themselves the moment he and Audrey got a little more settled and a little less euphoric. That those fears, difficulties, and, yes, ghosts - more his, probably, than hers - would make themselves known. And that it wouldn't matter how much courage they swore they'd employ. The very fact that they would need courage could get them down.

Danny stepped out of the building and inhaled the damp New York night. He will not borrow trouble, he decided. He will not let fears - his or other people's - kill his happiness. It was a rare, almost unrecognizable thing for Danny, and he would nurture it and not look for the exit signs.

XXXXXXX

She was a small woman. Danny didn't know why it should have surprised him, but it did. She was no taller than Audrey, and just as trim. The close resemblance, however, ended there. Mrs. Mills had dark hair and dark eyes, her make up and her clothes were impeccable. The kind that fit and suit so well you almost don't notice them. She also smiled a lot - a fact that also caught Danny by surprise. Though, perhaps, her smile was a little too genial and rarely reached her eyes. She didn't have the dimples or the freckles, and Danny, unaccountably, was glad about the fact.

She also didn't strike Danny as a frightened, sad, or particularly broken woman that he expected to encounter, judging by what Audrey had said. In fact, she was cordial, comfortable, and projected that quite confidence that puts other people at ease.

"I apologize that I insisted on meeting you, Danny. You see, I am here only for a short time, and Audrey has been talking about you nonstop, and in such glowing terms. I just wanted to make your acquaintance, and I hope you won't begrudge this to a concerned mother."

"Not at all, Mrs. Mills. It's a pleasure to meet you." Danny flashed her his mega-smile. Truth be told, he didn't feel anywhere near as confident as he appeared. Partly, because, in his experience, meeting the parents was a nerve-wracking and often unpleasant event. The experiences, of course, were from years ago, when Danny was very young and his estimation of his own worth was rather low. He knew who he was now, and a parent did not seem such a great and imposing figure. Still, the memory smarted somewhat.

Danny pushed it into the subconscious. He would give Mrs. Mills the benefit of a doubt. He owed it to Audrey, and to the woman in front of him, to meet her with an open mind.

"So, Danny. . . . Does everyone call you Danny, by the way?"

"Yes, why?"

"It's just, it seems to me, that a man of your age and in your position merits a full name. Do they address you as Danny at work?"

"Mother!" Audrey's voice came quietly but ominously. They were all seated in Audrey's bare kitchen, and she at the moment was pouring coffee into mismatched cups.

"Dear, I am just talking. I didn't mean anything by it." Mrs. Mills sounded genuinely troubled.

"It's perfectly all right, Mrs. Mills. People call me Danny because I prefer it that way. It's not a comment on my supposed juvenile demeanor, but simply a testament to the ease with which I would like to communicate with others. However, I can see how you may not be comfortable with that, and I wouldn't mind in the least if you called me Daniel."

"Thank you, I will. So, Daniel, Audrey tells me you are a Federal Agent. That must be interesting."

Audrey whipped around, almost spilling coffee on the floor.

"Mother, stop! Could you sound any more condescending?"

Danny began to worry, and not necessarily because of Mrs. Mills and her interrogation techniques. It was Audrey that surprised and perplexed him. The grounded if whimsical girl that he has come to know was gone. This Audrey was tense, watchful, and raw. Like a live wire that you can't quite bypass. It was as if nothing that was said by either him or her mother was to be taken at face value, and instead was to be regarded with suspicion. That sense of humor Danny knew she possessed seemed to have deserted her. As did her philosophical outlook.

Danny also noticed, with some shock, that Mrs. Mills was just as apprehensive of this Audrey as he was, though, perhaps, less surprised.

"Dear, I know you think I interfere, or that I came here to ruin your life. All I can do is to swear to you that it is not my intention. I would like to talk to Daniel, because I want to know your life. I am sure no one can object to that."

"Fine. Whatever. . . . Milk?" Audrey eased a little and took a carton of Milk out of the fridge. The situation was defused, but for how long, Danny wondered?

The evening after that was rather uneventful and short. They skated over some dangerous areas, like Danny's upbringing, his job, and Audrey's future, with relative, if pretended ease. That is, nothing was revealed of any importance, and the really weighty things were avoided.

They even laughed at some jokes Danny made, and, after a while, he got up and excused himself. Early rising, and the mother and daughter would want to spend some time alone. . . .

Truth was, he wanted out of that kitchen. The underlying tension and the insincerity of it all pressed on him like lead. He wanted Audrey back, he wanted her mother gone, and, most of all, he wanted out of that proverbial middle he found himself in. A precarious place to be in any circumstances, Danny felt that this particular middle was fraught with things unsaid and feelings boiling. And he didn't understand half of it.

He was prepared for a fight. He was ready to defend himself to any draconian parent. What he wasn't prepared for was the unaccountable feeling that he somehow had to defend the parent.

XXXXXXXX

Danny sighed heavily as he shooed Oscar off his couch. He turned on the TV, watching it for a while with unseeing eyes. He didn't want to go to bed. He didn't want to go there alone. Not after the past several nights. And even though his reason told him that this was just one time - an unavoidable, temporary separation due to the presence of her mother - his heart was filled with fear. He couldn't tell why, but the pesky, nauseating feeling that he was losing Audrey has shredded his cloud into a thousand pieces.

He must have finally dosed off, because the sharp knock on his door has startled him off the sofa.

She looked over her shoulder when he opened the door. Like a thief who checks to see if someone's watching the act of theft.

"Mrs. Mills!" Danny wasn't as surprised as he sounded.

"I am sorry to bother you, especially at this hour. Audrey's asleep, and I wanted to talk to you. I don't feel as if we got to say what really needed to be said."

He let her in with a heavy heart and a resigned expression.

"Can I offer you anything to drink? I don't have anything alcoholic, but I have a variety of teas. A soda, perhaps? I've got Orange Juice. . . ."

"Thank you, Daniel, I don't want anything."

She set on a high stool, tucking her legs underneath her. The position would have been almost comical, if only either of them felt like laughing.

"I'll be blunt. What I really wanted to ask you was this: what are you doing with my daughter?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Audrey is the sweetest girl in the world, when she wants to be. And I am a biased mother. But even I can see that she is hardly your type."

"I don't have a type. . . ."

"Of course you do. You are an attractive, self-contained young man, possessing a certain charm and not afraid to use it. I can see you with a long-legged blond. I can see you with an assured, worldly, collected woman. I do not see you with Audrey."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Mills, you don't know me. . . ."

"But I know my daughter. Like I said, she is a sweet girl, despite of that display in her kitchen earlier. But she is not a glamorous girl, or particularly together girl, or even a very self-aware one. I tried, but she has two left feet, very few defined aspirations, and little natural grace. And it's not just the fact that her hair will never be tamed or that she refuses to let go of those glasses of hers. It's that being that way serves her purposes. And that's just the external part. I am not even talking about her personality. For many reasons, the best she can count on is to be considered cute and entertaining. Believe me, I don't mean to insult you, Daniel, but you don't seem to me like a "project" type."

Danny took a deep breath.

"Mrs. Mills, you cannot insult me - you haven't even met me. And, apparently, you haven't met your daughter, either. Because the Audrey I know is nobody's "project." She is whip-smart, she is full of grace that cannot be defined by some dance moves or makeup application, she takes my breath away every time she smiles or every time the sun catches that unruly hair of hers. And she is brave in a way I can't even aspire to. I haven't known her for long, but so far, every day I know her she fills me with awe. And, by the way, she is, in fact, cute, in the simplest, textbook definition of the word: delightfully pretty and full of charm."

Danny paused and added with a smile: "Whether by design or by accident, whether you admit to it or not, you did a great job raising her, Mrs. Mills."

She shuddered a little, as if cold or afraid. Somehow it unsettled Danny more than any tirade she could have thrown at him. He leaned forward, his voice low and reassuring.

"Mrs. Mills, I understand that you want to protect your daughter. . . ."

"No, you don't understand. I am actually trying to protect you."

"Sorry?"

"You've met Audrey, what, four days ago, five? You have no idea. I don't mean that she does this deliberately. I don't even think she realizes that she is doing it. But that's inevitably what happens. . . . Anything that would shock, disappoint, or otherwise defy me is what she'd attempt to do. And that wouldn't be so bad if she at least followed though. . . . She thinks I'm stunted, and frozen, and bitter, and she would try to do things from what she considers to be the opposite vantage point. She's done that all her life. Another child, with lesser imagination, would have perhaps taken to drugs, or bad company, or any otherwise destructive behavior. Not Audrey. She would simply asses my fears and then proceed to act upon them, as if defying them would make her immune to my outcome."

She paused and Danny didn't interject, not knowing what to say. Mrs. Mills continued:

"Did you know I didn't want her to teach? Public schools in this day and age. . . . Guns, drugs, kids with nothing sacred. She stuck it out for five years, even though she hated every day of it. Not to prove anything to me, mind you, but rather to prove to herself that she wasn't me. That she wasn't afraid. I wanted her to go to graduate school right after College. She finally goes, five years later, and, of course, she goes in New York, because I hate it. She knows the crime rates, the crowds, the crammed living spaces would terrify me. I offered to pay for a decent apartment: a loan, mind you, she'd never take a handout from me. She said no, and you should have seen the hole she called home before this place."

"Mrs. Mills, all I'm hearing is a tale of a rather headstrong girl who doesn't want to end up like her parents. I knew that already. Not in such detail, but I got the gist. Nothing you have told me makes me fear Audrey or think less of her."

"I don't want you to think less of her or even fear her. I want you to understand what you are getting into. You say she is brave, but in fact, she is anything but. She is just as incapacitated by fear as she always supposed me to be, but her symptoms are of the active nature. Her fear, instead of paralyzing her, propels her to jump into things only to abandon them eventually. You see, I got left, so she _has _to leave. To leave first, before the frightening possibility of being left is even presented. She takes on pursuits that she thinks I would never have taken. She then abandons them as soon as she realizes they are not to her liking and that I don't mind. She would like to be a writer, but she doesn't write, not really, because I've been urging her to. . . . It's the same with her relationships. She brought a boy home when she was 14. A gangly, spiky-haired boy that she swore she couldn't live without. I was terrified, but I allowed the relationship, because I knew that any action on my part to control or terminate it would push her into something incredibly stupid and distractive. As it was, the boy disappeared after a few weeks. She no longer needed him to concur her fear."

"Mrs. Mills," Danny felt fatigued down to the bottom of his soul, yet he felt he should show some reaction. "She was 14. All kids try to defy their authority figures at that age. . . ."

"She had a boyfriend last year. He was 42, twice divorced, a minor executive at some lesser corporation. A nice man, by the way, not the shark that comes to mind with those statistics. He adored Audrey. I mean, worshipped her. Would have done anything for her. She got engaged to him. It lasted six months, and every time he would ask to set a date, she'd get upset. I knew from the start she wasn't going to marry him. But no matter what I said, it just fueled her on. . . . She gave up, finally, and we had a rare moment where we could talk without the barriers. She admitted that it was a mistake, and, to her credit, she didn't want to torment a decent man just to satisfy some craving. Not long after that she quit her job and applied to Columbia."

"So, she made a mistake. People make them all the time, especially when it comes to relationships."

"Yes, they do, but Audrey's mistakes are pointed, driven, and stem from the same fertile ground. I often wonder if her father's leaving didn't do more damage to her than it did to me. Yes, I am alone, but she is the one who suffers. . . . I finally thought she'd settled, you know. This school is good for her. She is doing what she truly wants, not that she might think I don't want her to do. I was so hopeful only last week. . . . And yet, here you are."

"And you think I am just another stroke in her pattern? Is that it, Mrs. Mills?"

"I don't think so, Daniel. I know."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**Ah, more angst. I didn't mean it, but an evil spirit set on my shoulder all day:) I do, however, solemnly promise to not torture Danny for long. Because he SO doesn't deserve it, and because I suck at suspense. :)**

**Thank you, all of you guys, for keeping me in reviews, and for being so amazing about it! If I could prevail upon him (or if I had any control over such things), you'd all get a fresh cup of coffee every morning, brewed by Mama Arevalo, and delivered by one Danny Taylor in person:)**

**SpyMaster, you can uncross those fingers, there's no subtle M/S ship here what so ever. :) I simply try to stay within the bounds of canon. This story takes place during one week in mid-February, and, if I am correct, Martin and Sam, during this time, are together and fighting over the disclosure of their relationship. I write this as if observed by Danny. **:)

He woke up with a severe headache and still on the couch. The urgent need for a drink that he hadn't felt in the past several days had resurfaced.

It was early and a Saturday, and her mother was still there, so Danny restrained his first impulse to go and knock on Audrey's door and busied himself with the mundane morning activities. A shower picked him up a little. Giving grumpy Oscar his breakfast while drinking the predictably undrinkable coffee kept him from running down the hall and barging in.

He was unsettled. Not that he bought a single word of what Mrs. Mills had told him last night. He put it down to the workings of her Macciavellian mind and to her desire to shelter her daughter from any and all possible harm. What truly bothered him was the reaction Audrey seemed to have had to her mother's presence. She was different with that woman around, and Danny didn't like the change.

It wasn't wholly unexpected. Danny has seen it time and time again. People behave differently and are perceived differently around those who would push their buttons. And the button-pushers tend to be the nearest and dearest, if for no other reason that they have been there the longest and had ample time to figure out where the buttons are located. The effects, though, are bound to subside once the irritation is removed. All he had to do is wait for that woman to leave, Danny told himself.

All the same, he was afraid.

He called the office to check on the progress. It was a day off, but Danny usually worked through at least a part of them. He checked the clock and, knowing that Mrs. Fuller also suffered from insomnia and was bound to be up already, made his way to #76. Oscar under one arm, a brown paper bag under the other.

He had to restrain himself almost physically from stopping by #72 and listening at the door.

Mercifully, Mrs. Fuller opened her door quickly. Frail though she was these days, she still retained most of her briskness.

"Danny, what a nice surprise!" She always said that, even though she was hardly surprised and, by this time, it was practically a ritual.

Danny deposited Oscar on the floor. "I brought back the prodigal feline."

"Thank you, Danny. I don't know how I forgot he wasn't at home." She smiled and petted the cat. "Did you have breakfast, dear? I am not much for regular meals anymore - an old body needs so little - but if you stay and keep me company, we can have a nice Saturday morning feast."

Danny felt torn. This was something he usually did: making sure Mrs. Fuller kept up her strength by sharing her meals whenever possible. He mostly pretended to eat, distracting her with conversation and making sure she at least attempted her food.

This morning, however, all he wanted to do was talk to Audrey. Reasoning with himself that it was still early, and that she wasn't much of a morning person, he settled at Mrs. Fuller's kitchen table, discretely opening the brown bag and taking out some things he picked up for her during the week.

He did that, too. A pack of sugar when he noticed she was low. A light bulb to change in the bathroom. A new battery for the wall clock. Small things here and there that she'd completely forget to buy. He would go about replacing them without saying anything. Danny wasn't sure if she even knew, but it was just something he did as a matter of fact.

"I have waffles, dear. I used to love waffles. Now, I can't even taste anything properly. But they are easy to make and I have the nicest syrup that I don't even remember getting! Just found it in the fridge yesterday. It's Maple. Also used to be my favorite."

Danny, who bought the Maple Syrup a week ago, didn't mention it.

They had waffles in somewhat of a silence. Danny, preoccupied, didn't talk much, and Mrs. Fuller, unusually lucid on that morning, was observing him.

"You know, dear, I think I like our new neighbor," she startled Danny out of his reverie. "She seems solid. A little gun-shy, may be, but basically solid. So very few people are these days."

Danny smiled and shook his head. "Just when I think you are not paying attention, I am shocked to realize that nothing much gets past you, Mrs. Fuller."

"Not the important things, no." She looked at him intently.

"I won't presume to give you advice, especially knowing that you are more than capable of doing well without it. I would just say that a girl like that should be given some room to figure things out. She seems to have a decent head on her shoulders, and enough of good taste to like you."

Danny chuckled. "Thank you, but you are biased."

"I am that, no doubt, but I am also old. And I was privileged in this life to have had the love and the long-term companionship of a truly excellent man. And if experience counts for something, then I can tell you that, in the end, if the person is worth it, all the calamities and all the fighting you have to do to get and keep them are worth it, also."

XXXXXXX

He exited Mrs. Fuller's apartment and stopped. She was standing on his welcome mat, head downcast, drawing invisible patterns on his door.

"Audrey! I thought you'd be still asleep."

"It's OK, I figured you didn't go far. I would have waited."

The message was welcome, but the messenger looked pale, drawn, and sad. Danny noticed the dark circles under her eyes and mentally cursed Mrs. Mills and her confounded "inspection" visit."

They walked into his kitchen, Audrey silent, and Danny chattering away to avoid any possible awkward pauses.

"Coffee? I know you detest this, but I swear, it has reanimating qualities. It can wake the dead."

She shook her head and Danny grabbed her into a warm, enveloping hug. "Hey, it's OK, baby. It'll be OK. Tell you what we'll do: we'll ditch your mom and go have something seriously fattening and extremely hazardous to our health at the Casa. I just had a waffle at Mrs. Fuller's, and my system is revolting. It demands some manly breakfast."

"Danny, I can't." She extricated herself from his hug gently. "I'm going home."

"Home? I happen to know there's nothing in your fridge that's even remotely breakfast-like. . . ."

"I meant home to Philly. I am leaving with mother. We are taking a 1:34 out of Penn Station."

"What? What the hell? You are dropping out of school?" He had to ask that, because asking the other question was unthinkable.

"No. I'm going for a weekend. I'll be back on Monday."

Relief that flooded him was almost physical.

"Thank God! You scared me there for a second."

Audrey kept silent, her eyes still cast to the ground.

"Audrey, what is it? You don't want to go? You should just tell her you are not going. She cannot very well drag you by force!"

"I know she talked to you last night. I wasn't really sleeping."

"Yeah, your mother is quite something. I see now why she left such an impression."

"We had a long talk after she came back."

"Well, that explains the dark circles. You really should have told her you needed sleep. Both of you, in fact. These 3 a.m. soul searching sessions are seldom productive and never positive."

"Danny, the thing is, she is right. I have no business messing up your life. . . ."

"Woah, woah, wait a minute! What happened? We were fine! How are you messing up my life?"

"I will, eventually. I always do. . . ."

"This isn't you, Audrey, that's your mother talking! This fatalistic attitude. . . ."

". . . is exactly me. You don't know. I am not good at this. All I do is hurt people . . . ."

"Stop! I don't know what she said to you. I don't know what arguments she used, what instances from the past she invoked to illustrate her point, but she is wrong! Or devious! Or manipulative! She doesn't like me, and . . . ."

"Actually, she does. She said she was impressed. She said you might really be good for me."

"So, what, that's bad? . . ." He drew a sharp breath. "Oh my God! Are you telling me she was actually onto something last night? That you would always choose to do the opposite of what she considers right? Please, Audrey, I beg you, don't tell me that just because your mother thinks I'm good for you, you are going to run!"

"No, Danny, I am not some petulant child out to get her parents in a fit of a temper tantrum."

"Then, what is it?"

"It's not because she thinks you are good for me. It's because I have actually stopped and thought about this, and I can see clearly that I will be absolutely no good for you!"

"Bullshit! You're great for me! You fill me with joy! And just yesterday morning you felt so, too!"

"Yes, and just five mornings ago I didn't know you existed."

"Fine, point taken: things can change quickly with you. So what? What does it matter! Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you have no feelings for me anymore?"

"This is not about my feelings, Danny. It's about yours."

"I don't understand. My feelings are crystal freaking clear: I love you! I don't think I can be any more explicit, unless you actually want me to get down on my knees!"

"Danny, no! You don't love me, you love the idea of me. . . ."

"Oh, for God's sake! Stop with the clichés, please! I don't think I can take them right now. It's the "it's not you, it's me" line, and as a writer, you should be ashamed to use it!"

"It doesn't matter what line I use, and these sentiments are clichés for a reason."

"Then let me assure you that I don't love the "idea" of you. I _have _no idea of you. Especially right now. But I _know _that it wasn't some illusion I held in my arms those past several nights, and it wasn't a figment of my imagination I traded barbs with those past several mornings!"

Danny took another ragged breath. Audrey still wouldn't look at him, and it was imperative that she should understand.

"Granted, we haven't had much time to discover every quirk or discuss every flaw, but the future is infinite for that! It only means that we will never bore each other, because there's so much for us to find out."

"Danny, don't. The only thing you'll find out that I disappoint. I will only cause you pain."

"Great, so in order to spare me the future hypothetical pain, you are willing to hurt me now? And you don't see the logical fallacy in that?"

"Any hurt you may feel now is nothing compared to what might come later. Any present pain will be fleeting . . . ."

"Allow me to be the judge of that. . . ."

"Danny! . . . It's over."

She said it quietly and with the finality and desolation in her voice that frightened Danny more than the words themselves.

"So, that's it, huh? And all those fighting words and fine proclamations were just that? You really were grandstanding!"

"I wasn't! I mean every word. I could have braved any demons from your past. It's my own demons that I can't inflict on you. I thought and I hoped I could, but I can see clearly now. Believe it or not, I am trying to spare you. . . ."

"Spare me! I mean it: spare me the rationalizations and the platitudes. I get it, I do. I just can't believe I fell for it."

Danny laughed a bitter, short laugh that didn't hold any mirth.

"Classic definition of insanity: doing the same exact thing over and over again, expecting different results. I really thought I've broken out of that. I need to get my head examined."

"Danny, I don't want us to part like this. . . ."

"I don't want us to part at all! . . . God, Audrey! What did this woman do to you? . . . Or, did she? May be she is just a convenient excuse for you to abandon things when they hint at getting a bit tougher?"

"I don't expect you to understand."

"Oh, I understand! I am not one of your 8th-graders, I don't need it spelled out for me. I am just another anecdote for you to write about when you are 60. Or, given the brevity of our encounter, I'd be lucky to get a footnote."

XXXXXXX

He reached the office in record time, and if anyone asked, Danny couldn't have told them how he got there. The headache of the morning has mushroomed into a full-blown migraine.

Jack and Sam were back, and there, in the interrogation room, was Mr. Markham.

A tall, even stately looking man, he appeared to be shell-shocked and disoriented.

Jack handed him a glass of water and asked, not unkindly: "Sir, what were you thinking?"

The man sighed. "I don't know. It all seems so unreal now. I was just tired. So utterly tired." He sipped his water. "I know you supposed that they drove me to it, but it wasn't like that. I've got good kids, and nice grandkids. And my sister has always been so kind to me. . . . I didn't want to hurt them."

Danny shifted in his seat. Something about the old man and his tone touched a raw nerve.

"I can tell you what I wasn't thinking about: I wasn't thinking that FBI will be looking for me. Or anyone else for that matter. I thought I was setting them all free, and myself, as well."

His hands shook a little, but it was hard to tell if this was a natural manifestation of his age or something brought on by emotion.

"Elsa and I were so happy there. I kept thinking back to that place, and how sky was so bright - almost white, you know - not gray like it gets in New York. . . . I thought I managed it all so well. Most of my money is all settled between them. And I did say good-bye. I did. Not in so many words, but I talked to all of them. They just didn't know I was saying good-bye. I didn't want them to panic, or worry, or try to do anything. I thought it'll be like a suicide, only far less messy, and I wouldn't have to die just yet, and they wouldn't have to bury me. I am really sorry."

"Sir, why didn't you just tell them that you wanted to move to Wildwood? It's your prerogative. No one would have stopped you. Why fake disappearance?"

"I couldn't tell them! All my life I kept teaching them that you don't give up. That you don't shirk your responsibilities. That a family is sacred. . . . After a lifetime of that, how could I have told them that all I wanted now was to be alone and free of obligations? I didn't stop loving them, I didn't want them to be disappointed. I just wanted to disappear as seamlessly as possible. . . ."

"But you couldn't have failed to realize that they'd be looking for you, right?"

"As naive as it sounds, I didn't. I thought - and I can see how it was just wishful thinking on my part - that they would accept that I'm gone, and that'll be that."

"Sir, they thought, not unnaturally, that something terrible happened to you. They checked the hospitals and the morgues. And they called the police. And they called us. How could you not have expected that? Your family loves you. And even if they didn't, I don't see how they could have let you just quietly disappear. . . . As cumbersome as those bonds can feel sometimes, they are there, and they can't be shed at will. Especially by you, because you took the time and effort to cultivate them."

"I know, agent Malone, I know all that. And I wish to goodness I was thinking rationally before. . . . Do you think they'd hate me now?"

Jack smiled: "I don't think they will. People, especially people who love you, have infinite capacity for forgiveness and understanding. . . . Of course, you are going to have to grovel."

Something akin to a smile graced the old man's face. "I suppose you're right. So, what happens now?"

"Well, now we have to sign a lot of papers. You have cost the environment quite a forest, Mr. Markham, but I suppose the humanity can let this one slide, considering your hitherto excellent conduct."

"I meant, where do I go from here?"

"You go wherever you want. As Kevin Markham, not the nonexistent person you've tried to become. My advice? Talk to your family and go back to Wildwood. You've earned a retirement."

"Won't I be prosecuted? For false papers and such?"

"You may be charged, but I believe they'll let you go with fines, and that can all be settled our of court. The biggest damage you caused is to yourself and to yours."

Jack turned to Danny: "Are you up for some paperwork?"

Danny, trying to control his breathing and checking his watch, shook his head.

"Jack, if it's all the same, I'd be back tomorrow. Tomorrow's Sunday, I'll sit here all day if I have to and do all the paperwork you'll see fit to put on my desk. Right now, I've got to run! I have a train to catch! A 1:34 out of Penn Station."

"Going somewhere?"

"Not if I can help it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**So sorry it took me several days to update. I hate it when reality rudely interrupts my fantasy:)**

**On the plus side, I can see the end of this story, and it shouldn't take me long to bring this to conclusion.**

**Thank you, as usual, to all the generous people who reviewed it. I am thrilled to have heard from all of you!**

The large tableau over the central waiting area listed a 1:34 New Jersey Transit, Northeast Corridor, to Trenton as being on time. Danny scanned the crowds frantically. The lady at the information desk told him that the platform for each scheduled train is announced some 10 minutes before the actual departure. Which meant that Danny had about 8 minutes before the announcement to try his luck in the hub of the waiting public occupying the middle of the large hall. After the track would be announced, he decided to just rush there with all the crowds. He was fairly certain of his facts. This particular train was the only 1:34 from Penn Station to go toward or have a connection to Philadelphia.

There was no reason why they should have been here, though. They could have very well chosen to wait it out in any of the dozens of coffee shops, sandwich places, book sellers, or news kiosks dotting the perimeter of the Hall. In fact, it would have made much more sense to listen to the announcements anywhere but in the middle of the waiting area. But there simply wasn't any time for Danny to go and peek into all and every business at the Station.

Danny scanned the crowd in his customary, professional way, picking out shapes and faces that could have been familiar. Afternoon traffic at the Penn Station was not a place to find anyone easily. Hundreds upon hundreds made their mad rush to different New Jersey Transit and Amtrack destinations. Colorful students, determined weekend shoppers, harassed business people, and simply leisurely travelers - they all seemed to have converged here today. Penn Station, on any given day, is a barely-managed chaos of restless humanity.

Danny, perversely, enjoyed train stations. Unlike airports that filled him with dread of an unnatural act of flying, train stations spelled excitement, hope, and discovery. The feeling stemmed from an earlier, happier childhood, when the world was perceived by a very small Danny as stable and full of possibilities. In those days - when father would emerge from his binge drinking, Danny now realized - the Alvarez family would take occasional trips from Hialeah, to Miami, to some destinations, names and locations of which Danny has since forgotten. But the becoming feel and smell of a train station stayed in his mind as a precursor to things that were fun.

Today, though, he didn't relish the station. He hadn't allowed himself to dwell on what he would say when he found her. He couldn't be rational about this. Rational would have meant going home and waiting for her to come back on Monday. Rational would have meant two days of thinking, mulling over every word said, every expression displayed, every feeling unleashed. It meant preparing a beautiful and deeply-reasoned speech that would convince her absolutely to give them a chance. A speech so compelling that it would counteract whatever damage Audrey's mother and Audrey's cornered mind would do to them over the weekend. Yes, that would have been rational. Rational would have meant allowing for the possibility of losing her for good.

And Danny could not do that. He thought with amazement of his last weekend. He couldn't, in all honesty, remember what he did then. There was a gym visit, and, Danny vaguely recalled, some movie on TV. But all of it seemed thousands of years ago, and he simply didn't know if he was capable of living through a weekends such as this ever again.

Five days. He has known her for five days. The idea boggled his mind. And yet, here he was, traversing the crowds, because the alternative was simply unacceptable.

The announcement startled him out of his frantic pacing. Platform 7a. A large portion of the crowd stirred like a suddenly awakened animal: first slowly, unsurely, and then springing into action with speed and power. Danny followed, still looking, still searching. The fact that he didn't find Mrs. Mills or Audrey so far did not discourage him in the least. He was absolutely sure that he will.

One escalator flight down, and Danny followed the flow along the platform, ever watchful: noting faces, hair, clothes. The train was filling up steadily, and still, there was no sign of them. Danny took a deep breath and entered the nearest car.

He made his way past rapidly taken seats, negotiating people stashing their luggage in the overhead storage. He was walking fast, but the train was a weekender - at least 8 cars, and Danny was running out of time.

He heard the warnings, and he felt the train stir, but it didn't bother him. He resolved to buy a ticket from the conductor and continue his search. He would talk to Audrey on the train, and they would come back together from Newark or Elizabeth. Or even Princeton, should it take that long to convince her. But convince her he would. There simply wasn't a question.

The conductor caught up with him in the fifth car, and Danny bought a ticket. One way, since he didn't know from where he'd be returning, and since he hoped - no, resolved - to buy two tickets for the return journey.

He felt strangely elated, gearing up for a fight. Adrenaline carried him through the train at an almost illegal speed.

Danny entered the last car, covered the distance to the very end, and stopped.

She wasn't there. Neither Audrey nor Mrs. Mills were on the train. Danny slid into a nearest seat. He felt suddenly wiped, deflated, all that adrenaline bringing him down with a crash.

Why was he so damn certain she'd be there, he asked himself? Because she mentioned this particular train? For all he knew, they decided to stay in New York until evening. Do some shopping or sight-seeing. Or, more likely, they simply took an earlier train, having nothing more to say, and in no particular mood to dawdle after the events of last night and this morning.

Danny took out his cell phone and dialed. Audrey's cheerful voice informed him that she wasn't available. He remembered with a prickling pain how they giggled when she was setting up the message in his presence, two evenings ago. They tried each to remember what the funniest answering messages they ever heard were.

"_How about this one: Hi, this is the refrigerator speaking. The answering machine is at the shop right now and cannot be contacted, but if you leave your name and a message, I will make sure someone will get back to you before everything freezes over!"_

"_That's nothing! I once got this while following a lead: Greetings. You've reached an S&M Hot Line. All our operators are currently tied up, but if you leave your name, your number, and your bondage preferences, we will get back to you with your punishment!"_

She settled on a somewhat flippant: "Hi, I am either asleep, away, or screening. Therefore, you either woke me, have a bad timing, or you're someone I don't feel like speaking to right now. However, if you leave a message, there's a 50/50 chance I'll get back to you."

"_Well, that's rude! And long," Danny noted that evening, but with an indulgent smile._

"_I know, isn't it cool? I figure: in this day and age, who doesn't know what to do when they get the machine? And if they are unfortunate enough to get one, the least I can do is entertain them with something funny and/or rude!"_

Listening to it now, Danny felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Not that he really expected her to be home. He just needed to hear her voice.

She wasn't picking up her cell, either. Danny suspected she turned it off, probably not in the mood to talk to him. What was it people said about letting someone down gently? This was letting him down with a resounding thud.

The train come to a stop. Newark. Danny felt as if he couldn't move. As if he was old all of a sudden. However, sitting there all the way to Trenton had even less of an appeal than getting up and moving. So, Danny stepped out of the car and onto the gray, smoggy platform.

He must have been crazy to ever have liked train stations. They were desolate places, smelly and stained, filled with irritated humanity and no hope at all.

XXXXX

He made it back to Manhattan without noticing the time or surroundings. An automatic pilot kicked in - a good thing, too, because Danny wasn't sure where he was going, or to what purpose. An occasional pang of some residual activity would motivate him to make another call. She wasn't picking up.

He didn't leave any messages. There wasn't a point. She was gone, and when she'd come back on Monday, it wouldn't matter. He would face her. He would try again. Even if the chances of prevailing on her then would be diminished.

He tried to recover some of his earlier fighting spirit. But the depression has settled in and was doing its slow, distractive work. Danny tried to tell himself that at this time last week he didn't even know Audrey, and he was perfectly fine.

It wasn't working. He felt cheated. Bereft. He was given a glimpse of something great. Something, apparently, he wasn't allowed to have. Then why was he shown it at all? One can't miss something one hasn't known. And it was absolutely no use telling himself that he'd be fine no matter what. Or that she'd be back on Monday and that it will be a clean slate. Or that, by that time, he'd emerge from this temporary insanity and will look on the entire thing from a philosophical standpoint.

Danny didn't realize where he was headed until he found himself pulling on the doorknob and entering the building. He came here sometimes. Not often, only when special reinforcements were needed, and, boy were they needed today!

This particular meeting was no different from the one Danny attended near his home, only dissimilarity being that this group met on Saturdays. Danny had set with them a handful of times during those weeks when it was impossible to attend his regular AA, or during the dark periods when he felt he needed this more than twice a week.

Those were not happy instances, even for an AA meeting, and Danny, not unnaturally, preferred the comfort of his own familiar group to the mostly sad associations of this place. But today he was desperate.

He found a seat in the back of the large room. The place wasn't even half-filled: a typical Saturday meeting, when most attenders feel they've been good all week and deserve to do fun things, rather than sit in a stuffy hall full of creaky chairs and ashen faces.

The meeting leader, a tall, slightly gaunt woman in a gray pullover, was standing at the podium equipped with a microphone. That little box often reminded Danny of a pulpit. In fact, when he came to his first ever meeting, the similarity to a church was so overwhelming, he almost left. He stayed only because he truly felt he had nowhere else to go. Not unlike the feeling he was experiencing now.

"We admitted we were powerless over our addiction - that our lives had become unmanageable. . . ."

That first time, this was the easiest part: as if anyone would be caught dead in a room like this - inhaling cigarette smoke and desperation - if they didn't feel they were powerless.

But now Danny thought about the so-called bottom every addict is supposed to reach before attempting recovery. It seemed to him that the pit of addiction was, in fact, a bottomless one: a person could keep falling into it their entire life. How often would one hit a rocky ground, mistaking it for the bottom, planting one's feet on it, and starting to climb back up, only to find out that this was just a cliff in a stone wall of the pit, and that one false step would propel one off of it and back on one's way down, lower.

". . . Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. . . ."

Danny had trouble with this one. His faith in the Power grater than oneself was severely damaged more than once in his life. And not just because of the blows he was dealt. It was hard to submit oneself to a power that seemed to be arbitrary at best. Or, at times, even malicious. Danny's faith was like a tide. It ebbed and flowed erratically. He began losing faith for the first time when he watched them pull his parents' broken bodies out of a totalled car. He lost more of it watching his brother's slow deterioration: needle in his arm and gaping emptiness in his eyes. Father Orlando seemed to have restored some of the faith, but it was in people, like the good Father and a few others, that Danny saw divinity. Not in some mysterious Power that could restore him to sanity, if only it would. . . .

". . . . Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God. . . ."

Turning his will over to something, anything, was a problem back then, because Danny didn't seem to have a will of his own. Everything he attempted in those days had turned out wrong, or hazardous, or damaging. And later he felt adrift for so long that he didn't mind surrendering. It felt strange, however, to promise to give up control, since most addicts had no control to relinquish in the first place. They wouldn't have been here otherwise.

" . . . Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. . . ."

Moral inventory. That one didn't take much work for Danny. He already condemned and sentenced himself for all the sins, real or imagined. It took a long while, though, to exonerate himself of at least some of them, because, as it turned out, moral inventory didn't necessarily mean one had to be found guilty of everything. Sometimes, giving oneself a break was harder than confessing and judging one's failings.

May be that was Audrey's problem. May be she judged herself too harshly, or not enough. Not for the first time this day Danny thought of her as an addict. As someone who had lost control and didn't even realize it.

". . . Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. . . ."

Well, that was something he, at any rate, could do. Danny was always a doer, and it felt like a relief to have something to act upon. Admitting wasn't the issue. Fixing things was.

" . . . Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. . . . Humbly asked God to remove our shortcomings. . . ."

If only it were that simple. To sit there and let a Higher Being do all the work. But it always seemed to Danny like something out of a province of voodoo. A ritualistic approach, if you will. After all, if recognizing your defects and humbly asking for their removal was the same as actually removing them, why was there a constant, daily struggle? A struggle that led people to these meetings in a first place.

". . . Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all. . . ."

A list of persons he had harmed. A list was easy, and the willingness to make amends was there. But the means, in some cases, presented a problem. One can always track down a former college girlfriend or two, who had to put up with a lot of drunken stupidity. And most of the people were generous enough to let it go. But how would one go about making amends to those persons no longer alive? Or how would one get rid of the feeling that the dead were harmed the most? Even if the feeling wasn't rational, or logical, or even altogether legitimate?

". . . Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. . . ."

And that was the real question, wasn't it? Asking for forgiveness and making amends to those who would have none of it. Or those who didn't feel themselves injured. Or those who no longer cared. Where did one draw a line between the humble and the self-indulgent? And who was to be the judge of whether the amends would, in fact, injure them or others?

Danny stirred in his seat. He would go home, he decided. He would spend the rest of the day and tomorrow throwing everything he had into that conversation he was going to have with Audrey. Because they will have that conversation. Because she came into his life and changed it. Because she owed it to him, and he owed it to her. And, mostly, because he has learned to realize that things unsaid and actions not taken can be just as harmful - if not more so - than those that see the light of day. And because he, of all people, could tell her that making amends for the future, possible, hypothetical evil was a really backward way to go through life. Making sure that no one will get hurt, and nothing will be destroyed, and no hearts will break was not the way to live. He needed to make her understand that.

". . . Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. . . ."

Promptly admitted it. He could do that. He was good at personal inventories now, and he knew that he was wrong. He was wrong to have let her leave his apartment, too angry and too devastated to fight it out. There was a moment, a fleeting second, an opportunity there, when she looked at him almost pleadingly, as if asking him to change her mind. He should have changed it. Right there and then. But not all was lost, and the promptness was still his. It occurred to Danny that, as an FBI agent, he could easily track down her address in Philadelphia. Not the most ethical thing to do, but sometimes the ends really did justify the means. Danny resolved then and there, that, if she wasn't back on Monday, that would be just what he would do.

". . . Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood God, praying only for knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry that out. . . ."

He didn't know God's will, and he wasn't very concerned about it. He had to believe that the energy, that resurgence that he felt, that need to go after her, that mad dash through the Penn Station and beyond was, indeed, the will, if not of God as he understood God, then at least of something equally divine. Wasn't love a spiritual entity? When it's real, and strong, and moves one to do things one didn't know oneself capable of? Last weekend Danny would have laughed this off. Last weekend was history. He had the will and, he believed, the power to carry it out.

". . . Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to other addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs. . . ."

Danny got up and made his exit as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the meeting in progress. He had a message to carry.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**This is nearing the end nicely. Thank you to everyone for your patience and your encouragement.**

**I am grateful beyond belief for all your generous reviews. **

**Anmodo, especially: there simply aren't words for me to express how deeply I'm touched by what you said. Thank you! **

Danny walked the streets for a while. He always thought better on his feet, and he needed to think carefully, to go over the arguments diligently, to coach them into the best possible terms. He realized how cold he was only when he touched his face to wipe away a stray drop of gathering rain.

He also noticed that it was getting dark. Not really late, just a February dusk creeping up in and stealing scarce daylight. He resolved to go home, even though he couldn't master much enthusiasm for the decision. Home was going to feel empty now, and the time, stretching until Monday, long. At least he would spend the day at work tomorrow. Doing all that paperwork he promised Jack and gearing up for that Monday meeting.

He was still composing his mental arguments when he exited the elevator and came to an abrupt stop.

For a second he thought that his exalted mind was playing tricks on him. That it conjured up something it saw previously and wanted to see again. Danny closed his eyes for a second and opened them quickly, like a child trying to assert that an unexpected and amazing gift he just received wasn't a phantom.

She wasn't a phantom, the girl sitting on the cold, marble floor by his door, he knees drawn up, a lined yellow paper pad perched up on them, whisps of hair falling into her face as she wrote intently.

Next to her, propped up against the wall were two packages: one small, with Dean & DeLuca logo on it, and another, larger - a box with an intriguing text, reading "The Four Paws Club."

He stood there, looking at her, all logical, rational, or otherwise coherent thought deserting him at the moment.

"You know, you really should have an umbrella," Audrey said conversationally, glancing up at him briefly and returning her gaze to her writing pad. "A gentleman always looks so distinguished with an umbrella. Plus, what would Mama Arevalo say if she could see you right now? She'd fire me as your official keeper."

It was surreal. She was commenting on his attire, like on that first, fateful morning, and just like then, she rendered him momentarily speechless.

"You are on the floor again." Danny finally said, still processing this as an out-of-body experience.

"Yes. I tried sitting on the ceiling, but I found it uncomfortable."

"You didn't leave." He felt silly stating the incredibly obvious, but he felt it needed to be acknowledged.

"No." She finally put the pad and the pen aside, but kept on sitting by his welcome mat. "It turns out, I had things to do that I couldn't possibly put off."

"Like what?" Danny's voice creaked a little, and he had to clear his throat.

"I had to go shopping. You need decent coffee. And so do I. I simply refuse to go another morning with that drain fluid you keep offering me. . . . I also felt compelled to get that litter box for Oscar. I sense I would like his company at my place a lot more in the future, and one feels obligated to accommodate one's guests."

"I see. Anything else?"

"Yes. I also absolutely had to commence writing my book. I couldn't put it off another minute."

"What happened to waiting until you are 60?"

"See, it occurred to me - the reality of life being what it is - that I might not make it to 60, and it's just a risk I am not willing to take."

Danny let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding since morning.

"Very wise idea. Besides, who said you can't write more than one book? There are always anthologies."

"Now there's a thought!" She lifted the pad and showed it to him. "See, this one is the account of my life so far. It's almost done. I'm thinking of calling it _Pride and Prejudice_."

"Snappy title." They were smiling now, both aware of what was implied rather than said.

"I thought so. It's a thriller."

"Of course it is." He approached her, arm extended, and helped her up.

"Thank you. I needed to get off this floor. I've been informed little Stevie is seeking legal action."

"Well, there goes your chance of a prospective marriage."

"Yes, I blew it, didn't I?"

"Well, with Stevie, anyway. He is not the kind that forgives and forgets. I should know: he still won't speak to me for some benign-but-apparently-offensive remark I made about his wheels six months ago. He takes his wheels very personally."

"Are _you_?" They entered Danny's apartment and made for the kitchen.

"Am I what? Feeling personal about my wheels?"

"No. Are you the kind that forgives and forgets?"

Danny took his coat off slowly - rain-soaked fabric dripping onto the tiled floor. He considered his answer carefully. Not because he didn't have one, but because he understood that its delivery could mean everything.

"Audrey, I, in all honesty, don't know what "forgive and forget" means. It seems to me backwards somehow. Because once you forget . . . once you no longer remember whatever it is you are supposed to forgive . . . then it is forgiven. But while you remember, you've got two choices: let bygones be bygones - which doesn't necessarily mean forgiveness, but rather acceptance of an excuse and a desire to move on, or you can try and revise your memory, making the transgression be something else."

Audrey by now climbed on the high stool and tucked her legs underneath. The pose and the place was reminiscent of her mother during the previous night's conversation, but the demeanor was altogether different. She didn't appear distraught or defensive, but merely attentive. It was clear she was pondering what Danny had just said.

He felt encouraged by it somehow. "I don't mean to say that people hold grudges simply because they can't forget an event. What I mean is that time can, if not necessarily make us lose the memory of that event, at least make it unimportant enough to forgive. Always provided that such an even _can _be made unimportant. There are some things that could never and should never be forgiven. . . . But, by and large, that's what forgiveness means to me: time allowed between the hurt and the healing.

"I see." She bit her lower lip. "And there hasn't been nearly enough time for you to forgive me for this morning."

Danny took her hand in his. "Audrey, you misunderstood me. I wasn't talking about us. If there are people in the case, it's you and your mother. As to us, you haven't hurt me, and there's nothing for me to forgive."

She lifted her head, disbelief clearly in her eyes.

Danny persevered: "You haven't hurt me. Don't get me wrong: you would have - deeply and undoubtedly - if you have left. And I don't mean just for a weekend in Philly. But as it is, you stayed, and therefore, as much as we need to explain and discuss things, there is no question of forgiveness here."

She lifted his hand and pressed it to her lips: a gesture that could have been awkward, but which she somehow infused with grace.

"We do need to talk." She held on to his hand, and Danny nodded, too choked up to speak. "I have a whole speech prepared."

"You do? I was working on one myself."

"Should we just exchange notes then?"

"I don't have any. It was in my head, but it's all gone."

"Gone?"

"Yep. I was working on how to convince you to stay, but that's all moot now. I need a new speech, and, possibly, something for the whiplash."

Audrey smiled sheepishly. "It does seem abrupt, my behavior. But, please, believe me, it's not because I am flippant or callous."

"I don't think you are that at all. Confused, may be, and thin-skinned."

Danny paused and then moved to the point:

"So, your mother left, I take it."

"Yes." The answer was short on words but long on meaning.

"Well, that's a relief, I don't mind telling you. Lovely woman though she is, it has been both an education and a nightmare knowing her."

Audrey giggled: "Funny. That's just what my father said." Then, turning serious, she continued:

"She wasn't happy to be leaving alone."

"I would imagine."

"See, that's just it: I didn't. I, in all honestly, didn't expect her to react the way she did yesterday and throughout last night. I expected, of course, that she'd condemn you and us outright, that she and I would come to our usual blows, and that'll be that. But she stumped me, you see. When she came back from your place, I was awake and confronted her. She gave me that piece about my not being right for you. Or not being good for you. And in my 2 a.m. sleepless indignation I blurted out the whole AA thing, and that I intended to be very good for you indeed - a positive thing in your life. Her reaction? She said that she finally understood why you'd been so adamant about being with me. That, putting it mildly, I was another object of addiction for you. That the ease and the enthusiasm with which you jumped into this relationship made perfect sense for someone with your particular propensities."

"Wow." Danny whistled. "Now, there's an interesting angle. And one I haven't considered."

"She did. She went on to say that she liked you the more for being a survivor, for conquering your problem, blah, blah, blah. . . . And then she turned to me and asked: _So, what do you think he'd do if this new object should be denied him one day? He is still safe now, because this is fresh, but in a short while he'd be beyond help, and should you want to leave then, what remains for the poor man to do but to get back to his original addiction?_"

"Jesus. She didn't put it like that, did she?"

"Oh, she did. Believe me. She's got quite a flair for the dramatic. I sometimes think she is the one who should have been a writer."

Danny shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know if this was more insulting to me or to you. Apparently, you are a flake that only merits being loved as a substitute for an addictive substance, and I am a junkie ready to latch on to anything as long as it'll provide me with a fix."

"For what it's worth, I don't think she realized that that's what she was saying. I think she believed that she was doing absolute right by both of us, and liking both of us in the process. Not in any small measure because she was rendering us helpful services."

"Human perception - never ceases to amaze me." Danny shook his head. "And she convinced you, I take it. . . . But not for long."

He squeezed Audrey's hand tighter.

"I hope you realize now that that was total nonsense. I didn't fall for you because I needed to feel a gaping hole in my life. I fell for you because I did. Because you are the person for me, and, I hope, I am that for you."

"I know." Audrey placed a light kiss on his forehead.

"The thing is, she was able to prevail on me, if only for a short time, and for that, I am truly sorry. . . . I don't deserve you." She put a finger to his lips, silencing a protest Danny was about to utter.

"It's not as if she was entirely wrong in her assessment of some of my actions. It is the importance that she assigns to my actions that is wrong. See, I do have a history of sometimes not following through on things. And some of those things are legitimate mistakes, and others, well, aren't. But mother acts as if there's some kind of a fatalistic pattern to it. A "doomed from the start" quality to everything I attempt, if you will. And the sad thing is, I used to think so, too. She has this effect on me - an effect I am only recently becoming fully aware of - where her outlook infects all my actions, and sometimes, in retrospect. You know, when you are doing something and enjoying yourself, and then something happens that completely spoils the memory of that enjoyment and colors it black?"

Danny nodded understandingly. He thought of the day his parents died. They were attending his Soft Ball game and all 3 of them were on their way home when it happened. Danny's team won that game, and he remembered how elated he was, even before the win. And how happy he was that both of his parents made it to watch him play. It didn't happen very often. Mother would come, but dad was often too busy, or, Danny suspected, too drunk to show up. After the accident, anything and everything connected with that day became tarnished. This tremendous, terrible thing has poisoned it all.

He threw away his catcher's mitt - one of the few presents his dad ever gave him. He wouldn't even watch baseball on TV for the longest time. He cut the ties to every friend he had on that team. He avoided cars as much as he could. Everything that gave him joy that day became a source of pain. It took years to remember the events leading to the accident with any kind of a peace.

Audrey slid off the stool and propped herself on the kitchen counter, her chin resting on her hands.

"My mother would have me believe that we don't control anything. Or, at least, that's what she herself believes. And may be because of that, I strive for control a little too much. Of course, rationally speaking, the fact that I don't want to believe my mother doesn't negate the reality of a lot of things truly being out of my control."

She shook her head as if getting rid of an annoying bug.

"One thing I am learning from all this mess is that I really should stop using my mother as a sign post. Whether she is right or wrong. Whether she means for the best or not. Whether she did or didn't damage me. . . . I mean, who doesn't think their parents messed them up? It's a fact of life that, even with the best of intentions, our parents would, inevitably, screw us up. And we will probably do the same to our kids."

Audrey took a deep breath: "In short, I am not defying her anymore, and I am not following her, either. I am declaring her irrelevant."

Danny smiled: "Yes, it's a brave and, no doubt, honest declaration."

"But? . . ."

"But I don't think you can. Not that I don't believe in your independence or you ability to follow through - whatever you may say of that ability - I just think that there are some people in each of our lives that can never become irrelevant. And that's OK. What we can do is give them less power over us. That takes time, and, I guess, an understanding that someone else's perspective is just that: someone else's. It can be useful, and it might be considered, but it's not a substitute for your own."

He was now standing next to her, and his arms went around her shoulders easily and naturally.

"I see this in practically any case I work. For every five eyewitness there are usually six different stories. It's mind boggling how several people can watch the same event unfold and see completely different things and draw widely different conclusions. And I am not even talking about the effects of time and memory. . . . You and your mother, for all your shared experiences, do not have the same perspective. You don't have the same attitudes. You don't even share perception. Which is probably why living your life in reaction to her impressions has made you so miserable."

"Incommunicable past," Audrey said softly into Danny's shoulder.

"What's that?"

"It's from Willa Cather's _My Antonia_ - another one of those books that I love and my 8th-graders detested: '. . . we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past."" She smiled and continued: "I always thought that it meant that some things from our experiences are impossible to communicate to those who haven't shared those experiences with us. And it's true, but it also means that even shared experiences are incommunicable, because different people perceive them differently."

"So," Danny hugged her tighter, placing a proprietary kiss on the top of her apple-scented head, "where does that leave us?"

"In the present. In the future. With our own experiences and memories yet to be made."

"Are we to ignore the past, then?"

"No, we can talk about it, and we can deal with it. We just can't let it swallow us. Or me, to be completely fair. You don't seem to need this wisdom."

Danny sighed: "You have no idea."

Audrey lifted her face to his.

"I have some idea. I've seen the scars. I haven't said anything, because I figured you'll tell me when you're ready."

Danny nodded. "I can tell you all about it. It's not a secret, not from you, anyway. I'm just out of practice. It's been years since I've gotten this personal with anyone. And if I seem wise to you - what with my not letting my past destroy my future - it's only because I've gone as far as I could down that road, and I know for a fact that there's nothing there. Not even a future."

Danny kissed her.

"I hope you know you can ask me anything you want. And I will tell you."

"I will, but right now we need to get you out of your damp clothes. . . ."

Danny's smirk was back in full force.

"You can get me out of my clothes anytime. Damp or not."

"That's comforting to know, Danny, but that will also have to wait. At least until after I fed you." She laughed at a slightly disappointed look on his face. "You have to eat. I am betting you haven't even had breakfast today, and it's after six o'clock already. . . . Come to think of it, I don't remember eating today, either."

"You're right, we'll order food, and we'll talk. It'll be like our first evening together."

For the first time in more than a day her dimples made their triumphant appearance: "Not exactly like the first evening."

"No?"

"Nope. I distinctly remember going to my place at the end of it. Not particularly wanting to leave, but going nonetheless. Tonight, unless you are planning on kicking me out, I am not going anywhere."

**A/N: **I feel that some sort of an epilogue is in order, even though this story is all but resolved. So, there will be one more, mercifully short, chapter. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything WAT-related, not even a red push pin! **

**Each of us angels**

**Summary: Can Danny Taylor ever admit that he needs someone? Danny-centric.**

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." - **Titus Lucretius Carus**

**This took longer than I thought. Simply because I found myself not quite knowing how to end this. Or, may be, I just didn't want to.  **

**Once more, with feeling: thank you, all of you, who read and reviewed. You've given me inspiration, not to mention, conceit, to write this. LOL. In all sincerity, though: I would not have been able to see this through without your kind and generous encouragement. **

Danny woke up with a start, not sure what it was that made him do so. His first reaction was panic: he was alone in bed.

He steadies his breath and took stock of his surroundings. The pillow smelled like apples and the smell gave him tremendous reassurance that the events of the previous evening weren't just a pleasant dream.

Other smells filtered in slowly: Seshuan sauce and lemon peel. Danny reached for his alarm clock. 3: 54 a.m. It was dark in the room and outside, but a thin sliver of light found its way through the cracked door.

Danny smiled as he got out of bed and headed for the kitchen.

She was standing barefoot, wearing one of his dress shirts that reached just above her knees, sleeves rolled up, and precariously held together by only two buttons. It looked enormous on her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, wisps of it already coming loose and getting into her eyes. Her face bore an expression of extreme concentration as she was trying to load a large dish into Danny's somewhat outdated microwave.

Danny felt his breath catch. She was the sexiest and the most adorable thing he ever saw.

"You know your microwave sucks only slightly less than your coffemaker?" Audrey informed him.

"You know it's 4 o'clock in the morning?" Danny countered with a smile.

"And your point is?" She arched an eyebrow at him as if truly perplexed by his observation.

"My point it: it's 4 o'clock in the morning. You are cooking at 4 in the morning. You. Not a morning person."

"I got hungry."

"Did I mention it's 4 in the morning?"

"I believe you did. Several times, in fact. Did I mention I have a vigorous boyfriend with whom I just burned a week's worth of calories, and now I am starving?"

Danny chuckled as he approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair.

"Smells good."

"What, me or leftovers?"

"Both."

Audrey smiled and rubbed his stubble cheek with her hand.

"What would you like: Seshuan noodles or General Tzo with Steamed Broccoli?"

Danny swallowed hard. "Ah, actually, nothing, thank you. I am not hungry."

"Well, that's no good! I must have not exercised you enough. An oversight I intend to correct as soon as I have some food myself."

"Is that a promise?"

"You bet your cute ass!" Audrey punched the microwave buttons vigorously.

Danny settled on a stool, broad smile permanently fixed on his face. "I'll take that offer, even though I have to reassure you that you've exercised me well. Believe me. It's just that nuked General Tzo in the middle of the night is a bit not my style."

Audrey looked at him thoughtfully. "Or in the middle of the morning," she noted. "Middle of the day, as well."

"What do you mean?"

"Mama Arevalo was right: you don't seem to eat much. I haven't known you for long, but I notice you seldom eat a full meal. You take bites, and you grab things on the go, but you don't consume a decent amount of food in one sitting."

She stroked his shoulder affectionately.

"May be it's just this week, but it looks like a habit to me. Is that because of your job? Because it's so hectic?"

Danny was silent for a moment.

"It's part of it, yes. But it's a longer standing habit than that. . . . I eat, I do. I am not starving myself by any means. I have my favorites and I can sometimes overindulge with the best of them. . . . But, on the whole, I don't need much to sustain me, and I can simply forget to eat and not miss it for a while. Stems from my childhood. . . . It's a long story." Danny sighed.

"I've got time," Audrey reached over and kissed him tenderly. "It's Sunday. It's early. I've got nothing but time."

"I, sadly, have to go to work at some point. I have faithfully promised to my boss to spend at least part of Sunday doing paperwork. . . . But I can tell you some things now."

He paused.

"Do you know how I became an alcoholic? . . . I was eleven when my parents died in a car accident. . . . I was in that car."

"God, Danny!"

"No, that's not why. . . . I mean, part of it. . . . Our grandmother took us, my brother and I. She wasn't that old, but she wasn't healthy, either. It was difficult for her, but she was raised in a culture where you held on to your own, no matter what."

Danny looked at the kitchen top, as if suddenly discovering something very engrossing on it.

"Problem was, she could barely take care of herself, even if she could hide it well in front of the DCF people. She was calm, collected, and smart. She was also forgetful, often oblivious, and easy to get around. Not that I wasn't grateful not to be sent to a group home. . . . I was eleven, Raphael - my brother - 16. She assumed Raphie could take care of both of us on most counts, and he didn't contradict her. She had her small pension and some savings that grandfather managed to leave her, and everything that DCF was providing for me and my brother she basically turned over to Raphie to manage as he would. Grandma would leave it to him to do the mundane: food shopping for the two of us, getting to and from school, or getting the books or clothes that we needed. . . . She'd cook occasionally, but mostly she was too tired to do it. She lived by her own internal clock, often being up at nights and sleeping through the days. . . ."

Danny stopped and fiddled with a solitary fork that rested on the counter. Audrey slid next to him and threaded her arms underneath his, around his body, making a sort of a safety net of a hug.

"What she didn't realize was that by that time most of the money that the DCF payed for our upkeep went to support Raphie's drug habit. Grandma would get the checks, cash them, and give the money to him - for our expenses. And it wasn't as if Raphie was completely selfish. He'd give me some cash, usually at the beginning of a month, for what he termed "mad expenses." A few bucks here and there that he assumed I spent on candy and baseball cards. But the bulk of it he'd turn into a fix for himself and his so-called friends. Food wasn't essential for him, you see. He wasn't a "munchies" kind of guy. His was a serious cocaine addict, even then, and this particular drug didn't require chasers of edible sort. . . . Me, I could get by most days on leftovers here and there, but I was growing, and I was hungry practically all the time. And there are only so many times you can go visiting your friends and kindly neighbors during dinner hours if you want to keep your dignity. And it was terribly important for me to keep it. To make sure no one was pitying me. Not even grandma. . . . I still don't quite know why I haven't told her. It wasn't as if I were particularly protective of Raphie. He could take care of himself, or so I thought in my 11-year-old naivete."

Danny turned to look into Audrey's face and was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

"Oh, God, don't, honey! It's been a long time! I am fine. I turned out fine. The only reason I am telling you this now is to explain my weird relationship with food." He smiled at her reassuringly, gently wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

"There wasn't much food in the house, but there was no shortage of alcohol. Beer that Raphie's buddies brought in by case-loads, and cheap tequila on the upper shelf of the closet in our room, hidden from grandma and an occasional, visiting DCF. . . . And it didn't take me long to discover that alcohol could kill an appetite like nothing else. A bottle of beer before school, a few swigs of tequila during recess. . . . I had this thermos thingy that grandma gave me. . . . And lots of peppermint gum to mask the smell. Gum was cheap and I could stock up on it when Raphie gave me a few bucks here and there. . . ."

A loud beep startled them both.

"I think your General is trying to tell you something," Danny smiled and nodded toward the microwave. Audrey sighed.

"Suddenly, I am not hungry at all."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Danny shook his head at her in mock indignation. "Someone promised me an exercise session and that someone should keep up her strength."

More to appease him than anything, Audrey took the plate out and pocked the chicken with a fork absentmindedly.

Danny sighed and continued: "By the time grandmother died - two years after she took us in - I was a full-fledged alcoholic. Not that I realized it then, what with being 13 and quick to recuperate after every binge, and having an uncanny ability to hide the effects from others. I also found out that alcohol, besides being an excellent appetite suppressant for me, had a very welcome side-effect of making everything seem unimportant. My parents deaths, grandmothers rapid demise, Raphie's gang-related drug activities. All I needed was a few sips of tequila to make all of it seem OK and perfectly acceptable. . . . It's strange. I knew my brother was an addict. I knew it beyond any doubt. But I completely ignored the signs when it came to myself. Just another amazing demonstration of how subjective a human perception can be. . . . You are not eating your chicken."

"Yeah, I really don't want to anymore," Audrey pushed the plate away. "All I want to do right now is hold you. God, I feel so guilty!" She sounded exasperated.

"Why?" Danny was puzzled. "Non of it is your fault."

"Not that. The fact that I enacted this huge drama out of the effects of _my _childhood, that I almost ended our relationship because of it, and here you are, with something real, something truly traumatic in your past. And I had no idea! I feel like a complete, selfish, narcissistic drama queen!"

Danny laughed and drew her closer.

"You are none of those things. And it doesn't matter if the childhood trauma is of a more visceral or emotional sort. Or if it's great or small. To a child, it's all larger than life."

He buried his face in her hair once again.

"Besides, what does it matter now. We are here, both of us. I am sober, and you stayed. That's what matters. . . . So, I think you should eat your chicken. And, what the hell, I'll even join you."

"You are not just doing this to make me feel better, are you?"

"Nope. All this past rehashing made me hungry," Danny took out an extra plate and a fork. "Besides, would that be bad: making you feel better? You do that for me."

"I do? How?"

"Just by being here, and by being you."

"Oh, that I _can _do!" Audrey perked up. "I can be me to the hilt."

She wrapped her arms around Danny's neck and brought her face to his. He thought she was going to kiss him, but she pressed her lips to his ear: "Do you know why I really stayed?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate cleaning!" Audrey announced triumphantly.

"OK, interesting non-sequitur. I am waiting for an explanation." Danny was kissing her neck now, not terribly concerned with whatever revelation she was about to make.

"I was leaving, but my heart was breaking, you see. And it occurred to me that, when it finally does break, I would have to clean up all the debris."

Danny laughed at that. "Unexpected, I'll grant you that. So, basically, what you are saying is that staying with me was simply a housekeeping decision?"

"Absolutely. I weighed my options and staying and begging you to take me back, and working on my relationship skills still seemed like less of a hassle."

"It's amazing how much work we are sometimes prepared to do in order to avoid doing other work."

"Speaking of work, you don't have to be there all day today, do you?"

"Hopefully not. And when I get back, may be we could do something fun." He chuckled at her speculatively raised eyebrow. "Not that kind of fun . . . . Wait, what am I saying! That kind, too, but may be we can go somewhere first."

"Where?"

"I'll think of something. This is New York, you know. Fun can be achieved here at any time. We can stick with tradition and do a dinner and a movie. Or, we can buck traditions and do something completely unexpected." Danny smiled mischievously. "I know this guy: he is an actor. Used to be a neighbor of mine, by the way, years ago. We still get in touch now and then. He is in this off, off, off Broadway company. They put on the craziest things. The acting is atrocious, and the plays are hysterically funny without intending to be. You'd enjoy that. He gave me the tickets the last time I saw him, and I believe one of the shows is tonight."

"So, your idea of fun is basically mocking your friends?"

"Sure, isn't everybody's?"

"_For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?_" Said Audrey with a smile.

"That's poetic."

"That's _Pride and Prejudice_."

"Yours or Jane Austen's?"

"Jane's, I'm afraid. Mine is nowhere near this poetic. Nor is my writing this good."

"You want to hear bad writing? Let's go see that play. I guarantee you: you will come out of it with your faith in your own abilities completely reinforced."

"Wow. I can't possibly turn down an opportunity like that."

"Good, it's a date. And now, we should finish that chicken and go back to bed."

"How about we leave the chicken for Oscar and streamline it straight to bed?"

"Works for me," Danny laced his fingers with Audrey's, leading her out of the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, though, looking up at his face.

"I am not afraid," she said as if continuing a thought. "It's strange, because I am not used to this feeling. I know I claimed not to be before, but that was more of a wishful thinking."

"And now?" Danny held on to her hand and she looked at their intertwined fingers with wonder.

"And now, for the first time in my life, I don't feel the need to be brave. You did this for me."

"You did this for yourself, I just cheered you on."

They stood there, framed by the door, supporting each other.

**A/N: **The ending is completely corny, I know, but I just couldn't help myself. I felt like a proud mama. LOL.


End file.
